A Gift and a Curse
by Erati
Summary: After loosing Sirius to the Veil, Harry is gifted a magical inheritance that changes his perceptions of the world around him. Betrayals, Epiphanies, and Politics abound. Possible SLASH! Working Title!
1. Prologue: A Dream before Waking

**Title**: A Gift and a Curse

**Disclaimer**: I OWN NOTHING and gain nothing from this but the sick satisfaction the I will return J. K. Rowlings characters considerably shaken and slight dirty. MWAHAHAHA!

_**PROLOGUE**_: A Dream before Waking

In Europe, there is a county called England. In this country there is a county called Surrey. In this county, there is a city called Whining. In this city, there is a street called Privet Drive. On this street there is a house. A house that looks just like all the other houses. Inside this house is a boy, a boy who looks just like other teenage boys. But this boy, unlike the rest of the street is anything but normal.

He's an extraordinary young man, the pride and hope of an entire world. And it was his birthday. Most birthdays in the past few years would see him sitting anxiously on his bed in his cousin's second-hand room, wearing his second-hand clothes staring with happy anticipation out the window for the gifts and well-wishes of his true family. But tonight he sleeps, hiding from a sorrow that he clings to with grief-stricken desperation, holding it as he would the family member he's lost. His burden grows heavier everyday as he mourns the food he eats, the water he drinks, the air he breaths, things his loved ones will never experience again.

A part of his wished for death, longed for it with a yearning usually spared for more loving things. He never asked to be extraordinary. He never asked for the fate of the world to be laid at his feet. All he wanted was love, peace of mind, and a home.

So, on a night he should be rejoicing his new-found stasis of adulthood, when he should be waiting eagerly for his inheritance, his gift from the abundance of magic, he was sleeping. Dreaming of Utopia, sun-hued and silken veils, and the warmth his cold-heart now lacked.

He never saw the serpentine thing crawl through his window, he never heard it's almost metallic slither as it made it's way across his floor. He shivered, however, when something bitterly cold slid across his skin, hissed as a cold burning blazed for an infinitesimal second along his back. It was over in seconds, the last blast of icy wind fading as the clock on his bed stuck midnight. He was never even fully awakened.

So Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World, Boy-Who-Lived, Champion of the Light, never knew that he had just received the first part of his inheritance. His world had just shifted. With a timeless twirl of Penelope's hand, Harry's fate had be irreversibly changed. As he had wished, he got the power to bring about the world he so craved.

Be careful what you wish for, you just might receive.

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A.N.- This little plot bunny has been jabbing at me with an electrified Spork-O-Doom for months now until I was forced to write it. I even have reason to suspect it of the untimely death of my 'Legend of the Draconis" plot bunny. For all the LOD fans, I will try to update that soon. I've just had several options for the next couple chappies fighting for my affections.

Please review and let me know if you like this little spiel. I've already started the first chappie so let me know if you're just waiting to see.

R&R!


	2. Family, Suspicions, and Owlish Dignity

Harry was jostled awake the next morning, his birthday morning, feeling stiff and cold, which, if he had been more awake, and less irritated, would have made him suspicious. But, at the moment, he was being assaulted by a rather annoying bit of fluff calling itself an owl. The aforementioned furry menace was zooming around the room, hooting to it's little heart's content, now that it had Harry's attention, before flying straight at him, and hitting his chest at full speed. Harry swayed a bit as he coughed, working air back into his lungs. The owl, Pigwidgeon, who was currently looking very dazzled, had landed in his lap. Scowling, Harry removed the card from it's leg and sent it to Hedwig's cage to sate itself and rest before heading back. There were also five other owls perched on various pieces of furniture throughout his room, watching Pig with, what Harry could only interpret as the owlish version of shame and apology.

Following some kind of preconceived order, a different owl gracefully hopped from Harry's dresser to the foot of his bed, then from their to his feet, waiting patiently for Harry to lean forward and remove the outstretched package before retreating to Hedwig's cage, sipping a bit of water and flying away. Then came the owl from one of Dudley's broken-toy shelves, and the shelve of books Dudley refused to read, including various textbooks. Still another came from the broken-beyond-repair table in the corner. They, too, demurely offered up their cards and packages before helping themselves to a sip of water and exiting.

The last owl, an eagle owl Harry noted with mild surprise, came forth with an arrogant regality from the highest point in the room, Harry's wardrobe, another Dudley cast-off. A certain tow-headed youth came to mind at the owl's superior attitude. As it drew nearer, Harry saw a gold pendant hanging from it's neck embossed with a large, golden 'G'. Now Harry's was truly surprised. What was a Gringott's owl doing here, he thought. Only one way to find out, he answered himself, lifting a rather weighty envelope from the eagle owl's leg and watched as it soared majestically out of sight, not stopping for even a sip of water on it's way.

A flash of annoyance came, and went just as quickly, as Harry stared with only the mildest of curiosity at the unexpected delivery. With an almost casual flick of his finger, Harry broke the seal on the envelope and pulled out the large bundle of papers therein.

_To: Mister Harrolden James Potter_

_It is my duty to inform you that, upon reaching your majority this the 31st day of July, 1996, you have been given full access to the estates of inheritance that have, to this point, been held in trust. The following papers herein are a general listing of the solid and liquid assets, as we know them, of aforementioned inheritances, as well as a general accounting of vault contents. The estates are separated by house and/or bequest party. To properly lay claim to all estates and assets herein, you must present yourself to the Head Goblin of the Inheritance Office within thirteen (13) days of this correspondence. Failure to present yourself could result in loss of inheritance. All parties for which you inherit, and the houses therein are as follows:_

_The Lord and Lady James Ericsson of the Noble and Ancient House Potter_

_included estates as follows_

_-The Noble and Ancient House of Potter_

_-The Noble house of Bonfere_

_-The Noble house of Dor_

_The Lord Peter Timothy of Pettigrew_

_included estates as follows_

_-The House of Pettigrew_

_-The Ancient House of Prewitt_

_The Lord Sirius Orion of the Noble and Ancient House of Black_

_Included estates as follows_

_-The Noble and Ancient House of Black_

_-The Noble and Ancient House of Hilamana_

_-The Noble and Ancient House of Jarhandi_

_-The Noble House of Ekor _

_The Lady and Ladess Eirena of Qushare_

_included estate as follows_

_-The Noble and Ancient House of Qushare_

_If there are any discrepancies in these papers or those included, please either contact your representative or contact myself. Congratulations on reaching your inheritance and have a nice day._

_Chieftain Ragnok oc Mrand_

_Head of Inheritances_

_House of Lords: Liaison Office_

_Gringott's Wizarding Bank_

_British Isles Branch_

Harry hadn't even gotten to the many packets of additional papers from the inheritance office and his head was already reeling. The seemingly straightforward missive raised more questions than he thought possible, not the least of which, how the owl had gotten through to him in the first place? (He had decided upon first starting the letter, not to even bother with the issue of names.) Dumbledore had been very specific about him only getting owls from a select few and only today. Though Harry had protested vehemently, his arguments had fallen on seemingly deaf ears. All he had managed to accomplish was adding both Neville and Luna's names to Ron, Hermione, and Hagrid's on the list of allowable post.

He had been graciously informed that additional wards would be placed over the property and they would be keyed to drop for a few hours after dawn and then reset themselves. The Gringott's owl must've just slipped through with the rest of his birthday mail.

Though the thought of these restrictions usually left him seething, this morning he was feeling surprisingly numb, almost cold. Not even the prospect of missives from his friends could raise more than a faint smile. Which brought him back to the letter from Gringott's.

He felt his smile turn decidedly cold at the knowledge, here, in plain black and white, that that treacherous little rat had bequeathed his estate to the very child that had defeated his master. The fact that Voldemort's defeat at his infantile hands had not only left him leaderless, but penniless as well, seemed fitting. He just wished that blasted rodent were really dead, along with the crazed bitch Lestrange, instead of just presumed dead.

The thought of his parents' estate brought mixed feelings. On one hand, it was nice to know that the vault money, extensive though it was, wasn't only he had from them directly. And he also spared a passing thought of the security and freedom it could bring. If he had learned nothing else from the Malfoy's, it was that even freedom wasn't free. But it also made him wonder why no one, especially Dumbledore, had mentioned that his parents had left him a legacy? He hadn't even known that his parents had left a will, not to mention Sirius' or Peter's wills. And if Sirius' will was already being executed and he was, apparently, the main beneficiary, shouldn't he have heard of it, at least? Let alone been present?

Harry's faith in Dumbledore had been radically shaken these past few months, but he still hesitated to think that even Dumbledore would keep something like this from him. He couldn't be the person referenced as his representative, could he? I mean, even though he had taken Harry under his wing, acted as his mentor, protected him, in actuality, he was still only his headmaster. He wasn't his legal guardian. It wasn't as if he was obligated to tell Harry things he should already know, or explain the ins and outs of a system he had supposedly been born into. But he knew that the Dursley's didn't know that the Potters had money, let alone the legal process of accessing it, because his trust fund wouldn't have survived their avarice.

But Dumbledore _had_ taken Harry under his wing. He _had_ acted as his mentor. He _had_ seemed to protect him. So, knowing how keen he was to know everything of his parents, and knowing that the Dursley's told him nothing but lies, why hadn't the Headmaster informed him, himself?

Deciding to turn his mind toward, hopefully, less confusing matters, Harry put aside the letter, mind-boggling contents returned to their envelope, and dug until he found Ron's letter and the Weasley's package. He set the package down to examine after he read the letter already in hand. His eyes widened a bit as his thumb made contact with the parchment directly below the crest of House of Weasley pressed into the wax seal. A burst of hot magic captured his finger, pressing slightly, before letting go shortly thereafter, satisfied as to his identity.

Even more surprising, was his own recognition of the spell. When he, Ron, and Hermione had been trying to find a way to communicate with the members of the D.A., this identity / privacy spell had come up, but they decided that owling was too obvious, simple paper too easily removed. Besides, if someone else tried to open and read the letter and couldn't, it would look suspicious for all of them.

The spell used two points to identify a person: blood and magical signature, which made the spell borderline dark magic. The fact that Ron had used it, never-the-less using it on what was supposed to be a simple birthday letter was more than a bit surprising. Also was the fact that it got through the wards baring a potentially dangerous spell. It could've been a pre-curser to a port key, after all.

Setting yet more questions aside determinedly, he opened the letter and read;

**Hey Mate,  
I know that Dumbledore told us not to owl you, for your safety and all, but I really don't think you should be left alone, at least not completely. So, I did send you some post, even if it did come back undelivered. They were open, though, so it makes me wonder.  
I wish you were here, mate, if only so you could sit with me while we both brood!  
I've been thinking lately, ya know, about everythin' we've gone through. I haven't always been the best friend, have i? To caught up in trying to be a good Gryffindor to think for my bloody self and be a good person, I say, thought I talked to Dad about it, between angsty brooding, of course, and he said i just needed the chance to grow up. Guess I did. I can remember all those things so clearly, mate, but when i think back on it, i could never remember them with this much clarity before. At first, i thought i was just imaginin' it, but my dreams are getting clearer, and less scary. I think I'm even starting to tolerate spiders now! I just wonder why the memories are so clear now? Even Gin's noticed it with her own memories!  
And it's not just that. I've never been one to be really suspicious, but growing up with Forge and Gred as brothers, you learn not to be exactly trusting either, or to judge too quickly. You know they always look more innocent the guiltier they are, but I've been so quick to judge everything. That was alright at first, but I'm usually not that clumsy. I know i have a temper, but i can usually see when I'm wrong. I used to wonder why gin fussed at me so much last year. It wasn't her, it was me. I usually know how to bow our gracefully, or try. I've played enough chess to figure that, at least. Even if i don't want to admit it!**

**But bloody hell, I knew Blaise before i came to Hogwarts through the Ministry and our dads and i blew him off because he's a Slytherin. I even promised him i wouldn't! We weren't best friends, but we could've been really good ones. It's all so confusing, mate. I don't know what to think. It's like i don't even know myself anymore. I worry about how much i changed. Was it on purpose? Did someone do this to me? Has Ginny changed more than natural and I didn't notice or her me? If so, did they do it to all of us? You, Hermione, my family? Are me and Gin the only ones? If so, why?  
Is it wrong that we're so paranoid now, mate? I'm even starting to wonder about Dumbledore now and how he's always treated you, like some kind of valuable prize, indulgent-like, or is that just me? We've always gotten away with so much, unless Snape caught us. Was that fair? Bloody Merlin, was Snape right all these years? Frightenin thought. And how come all the things you got away with always ended up putting you in danger? You're a person, Harry. Why can't most anybody see that, but us? Why can't they see you just want to be treated like a normal wizard? Why can't they just leave you be?  
Look, mate. I respect Dumbledore and all, but if having so many siblings has taught me anything, it's taught me that you have to make up your own mind, live your own life. I learned the hard way that trying to live through someone else isn't living at all. I used to want your life, but this past year has taught me that what i want is a life of my own. Don't get me wrong, you're my brother, you're family and if you ever need us, we'll be there, at least me and Gin will. She's watching me write this and she agrees. Where you go, we go. You need a hand, we're there. But that doesn't mean we want to live through you, or envy you, not anymore. Everyone has tough times, Dad says, but even he agrees that yours are tougher than most. We're with you Harry. Always. We just want you to have a chance to live your life how you want, no apologies or exceptions.  
Now that i can look back completely on our years at Hogwarts, along with Gin, of course, we wonder if you've ever been allowed to be completely yourself, no matter who that is. We don't rightly know. It makes us wonder how much we know you. If you want to, maybe you can let us find out once we're back at school. **

**Your Family,  
Ron and Ginny**

**P.S.- Dad says there's a meeting at the House of Lords. Nothing major, just the first of the fall season Wizengamot meetings. He says it's two weeks before school starts and he's gonna take you, then back to the burrow for the rest of the vacation. Before this, I asked if you could come and Dumbledore blew me off. I don't think Dad told him you were coming, mate. Just thought you should have a heads up, mate.**

Though Harry had always been seen as the epitome of rash Gryffindor courage, the last few months, especially the Department of Mysteries incident had taught him to appreciate the instincts and perceptions that had made the hat consider putting him in Slytherin. He had had to admit that if he had allowed himself to use Slytherin calculations instead of hiding behind brash Gryffindor bravado, and the image he had always felt needed to be projected, he may have been able to avoid the whole disaster, not to mention the several before it.

So self-examination and doubt weren't new to him, neither were the weird flashbacks and odd bursts of crystal clear, yet impossible, memories, which he had written of 'til now. Though the thought of someone tampering not only with his mind, but the minds of people he cared about was frightening, he decided to come that when he had to. Besides, it wouldn't surprise him, at this point, and there was nothing he could do hear.

What did surprise him, however, was the careful, almost Slytherin-like letter, and from Ron, no less. If there was anyone more Gryffindor than Harry acted, it was Ron. But the almost paranoid privacy measures, as well as the slightly careful hints dropped about his suspicions about their years at Hogwarts, in general, and Dumbledore in particular, shocked Harry.

He knew his best friend's family nearly worshipped Dumbledore. To even consider him in a suspicious manner took a great deal of maturity and strength of character for both of them, especially Ginny. Apparently, the Department of Mysteries had changed both of them as well.

Several things about the years they had shared at Hogwarts didn't add up, had never really added up, for Harry. The fact that Dumbledore hadn't suspected a thing about Quirrel when even Snape suspected. And if Snape was harassing Quirrel on his orders, then why didn't he keep a closer eye on them? He knew everything else that went on in the castle. Hermione had found an obscure passage in an outdated copy of Hogwarts: A History, the told of how all the Headmasters and Headmistresses were tied directly into the wards, for added protection. So how had three first years gotten past him so easily? And how had he managed to get there just in time to be too late?

Second year brought the Chamber of Secrets. Supposedly, there were alarms around the school to warn of such dangers as Basilisks, but none had sounded when the chamber was opened, not the first, or the last. It had taken Hermione to even figure out what the creature was. How had she figured it out when Dumbledore, who'd had fifty years and considerably more resources hadn't? How had such a thing, obviously dark magic, made it beyond the supposedly impenetrable dark arts wards? Even if the chamber was protected from such protections, the rest of the castle wasn't. Not to mention the fact that, even though Hagrid had finally been exonerated, he still hadn't had the opportunity to continue his wizarding education, or even get his wand repaired or replaced.

Third year saw a possibly dangerous convict and escaped prisoner at Gryffindor tower itself. Apparently, anyone can sneak onto and off of the school grounds. The dementors not withstanding, of course. And it hadn't been missed that no one had been properly warned of their coming. What if, like most sane parents, they hadn't wanted their child near such creatures? It would already be too late to start them at another school. It had also become clear that year that the Ministry had little control over the dementors. Only Dumbledore's strong magical presence had ensured the students' safety, though barely. Not to mention the evidence of corruption that Malfoy's little stunt with buckbeak had made so evident. He didn't even want to think about the huge gap in security the tunnel leading to the Shrieking Shack continued to be, to this day.

Fourth year brought the Tri-wizard Tournament. Dumbledore had made it abundantly clear that no one under a certain age was permitted to enter, yet when his name had be spat from the Goblet, was he withdrawn? Was he made to conform to the same rules as everyone else? Was an investigation even launched to find out how his name had come to be in the Goblet at all? Of course not. They just blithely let him risk his life for what was supposed to be no more than a challenging contest, but turned out to be a plan of execution, namely his. Though it had been brilliantly done, he couldn't help but wish it had been done to someone other than himself and poor Diggory.

Then, there was the glaring eyesore that had been him Fifth year. The silent treatment, the news blackout, the abomination that was Kreacher, the horror of Sirius' imprisonment, and in his own home, no less. The strange and violent nightmares, the doomed occlumency lessons, that toad Umbridge and her blasted blood-quill, slick Malfoy and his Inquisitor's Squad. The embarrassment of Trelawney and the relief that was a clan-less Firenze, the incredulous of Grawp's presence, and the terror of Sirius' capture. The blessing of Hermione's brilliance and a mad dash of the backs of Thestrals. The sick fear of facing Death Eaters, and fierce pride at the courage of friends. The sharp stab of Sirius' fall and the hot flush of new hate. The blurred fury of running after Bellatrix and the fierce disappointment of a failed beginners' _Crucio. _The false calm of possession, the fierce love for a protector, the pain of being free again. The haze of returning to the castle, the sharp clarity of Dumbledore's office. The twinkle less blue of Dumbledore's eyes as his memory ripped Harry's world apart all over again. The sharp twist of something inside him crumbling as his magic is set free and the fierce satisfaction of justified destruction.

Out of all that, the hardest, was the look in Dumbledore's eyes when Harry had finally tired himself out. There was sorrow there, but not for all the things his ignorance had wrought, not for the year of uncertainty and pain and his part in it. The sorrow was for the boy he thought Harry had been and no longer could be. He just didn't seem to realize that The-Boy-Who-Lived had never existed.


	3. Worship,Prodigal Sons, and Room Service

**A.N. **I've had this chappie sitting around full of grammatical, spelling and even font size snafus, but finally got around to correcting as much as reasonably possible thanks to a wonderful review from DianatheHuntress. So.. Here ya go, Chapter 2. Enjoy!

Putting aside his mild frustrations, disappointment, confusion, and letter from Ron, he picked up the Weasleys' package, their gifts to him, which enlarged after, again, checking his identity.

Ron and Ginny seemed determined to surprise him. The rest of the Weasleys' gifts were atypical of years past; the twins' sample box from their store and Mrs. Weasley's cake and food care package. Percy, of course, was still on the outs with his family and, of course, that included Harry. Neither of the older Weasley brothers knew him enough to send him a gift, usually, but from the looks of Ron and Ginny's gift, they had helped out a bit this year.

Besides the typical gifts, "Greatest Seekers in Wizarding History" and a Honeyduke's Sampler box, were three reasonably thick books, not Hermione-thick, but still pretty hefty. The top book was entitled "Sink or Swim: Everything you ever need to know about the House of Lords (Fourth Edition) by Sir Charles Nicholas Rupert Exaviar Westwood the Third". He'd have to give them something fantastic for their birthdays' for that book alone. He had been wondering about that and now they hand him the answer to one of his bigger questions. It actually made him smile.

The second book was pretty straight forward, and, again, another gods' send: "Occlumency, Legilimency, and you: The Art of the Mind by Cranellius Fog". Though he now well accepted that he would need to return to lessons with Snape, he hadn't figured out a way to accomplish it without a lengthy ordeal, and that was just to get them back where they started. He wanted Snape to help him understand, not just expect him to know before hand what needed to be done. If that had been the case, then what had he needed Snape for? So having study material and the rest of the summer to practice before ever having to face Snape again seemed a wonderful idea.

Nearly grinning, he picked up the third tome. Reading the title, he felt his smile slide away like butter off a hot skillet, a frown of confusion once more in it's place. The title of the book was "Flying to Live: A lesson in Aerial Combat-Auror Division by Eurial Husk". He had spent an unseemly amount of time contemplating the coming war and his place in it. He had mentally gone over all the things he thought he should know. Even knowing that his experiences with combat had been severly limited, flying and battle had never occurred to him as a possible field of study, and it should have. Between his love of flying and the attack on him during first year and the one that had been staged by Malfoy, bloody hell, even watching the Slytherin's play all these years should've taught him how possible it was to be attacked while astride. He had to hand it to them, they had really outdone themselves this time. Trust them to combine the two things he and Ron both seemed to do a great deal, flying and fighting. 'Prats', he thought fondly. He couldn't have been happier to call them friends… no, family.

Again Harry shuffled through his missives until he came across the tiny, precise handwriting of his second best friend, Hermione Granger. Her careful concern and stalwart support had always made him smile, even when her nit-picking and mother-henning made him want to scream.

Harry stopped in the process of opening her letter, blinking in confusion. Where had that thought come from? Feeling almost uneasy, he tried to tell himself that his female friend just worried, that she was always questioning him because she cared. But even though the thought had come out of nowhere, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more than simple concern behind her constant digging.

Again, deciding that that was an issue to put on hold for the time being, after all, it was his birthday, he continued opening Hermione's letter, pushing aside the worrying feeling at the absence of any kind of identification spell.

Dear Harry,  
Happy Birthday. Dumbledore says that this birthday is very special. He told me that some wizards come into their magickal inheritances and bloodline gifts soon after their 16 birthday. He said that's why the restrictions weren't lifted until one was 17, to give them a chance to get their magick under control and stable.  
Let me know if you come into some magic, okay. I've tried doing some research on it, but not much is known outside wizarding families themselves, Dumbledore says. I even went to the Magical Library of London and found almost nothing. Dumbledore said families jealously guard their lineages because of habits taught during past wars. We both think it's silly to keep such things secret, but no matter. If you come into an inheritance, you can tell me!  
Dumbledore said that if it's quiet, he might be able to come get you a few days before school starts. Then you can come to the Burrow and visit with Ron and myself. Won't that be wonderful!  
Oh, and I don't want to worry you, but Ron's been acting a bit funny. I'm worried that those brains from before have done something to him. He keeps avoiding everyone but the twins, Ginny, and his Dad. He even avoids me! None of them will tell me what's going on! I asked for Dumbledore's advice and he said I should just give him time. I just thought you should know, in case he hasn't gotten better by the time we got together again.

Sincerely,  
Hermione

P.S.- Dumbledore says you should write down anything that happens with your scar and to try and practice Occlumency.

Before he could fully absorb the shock of Hermione's slightly rambling letter, there was a knock on his bedroom door. The knock was soft and seemed almost apologetic. He had no idea who it could be. Surely none of the Dursley's would be so polite, at least not to him.

Frowning in mild confusion, a burgeoning habit for him, it seemed, Harry climbed out of his bed and slowly went to open the door. What he saw on the other side almost convinced him that the entire morning was a dream and he was still sleeping.

Dudley, previously of dangerously pendulous size, now just heavily muscled, stood outside his door, looking chagrin and holding a tray laden with delicious smelling food. For a moment, they just stood there, looking at each other. Then Dudley spoke.

"It's not your fault I don't like magic." The words left him in a rush and he flushed a bit, obviously embarrassed. Then, he closed his eyes, completely missing Harry's not inconsiderate shock, took a deep breath, and continued, looking at Harry very solemnly.

"Look, my parents left for Marge's. Can I please come in so we can talk?" Harry was still far to stunned at the seeming u-turn from a boy he hadn't seen since the dementors incident the previous summer. So he simply opened the door so Dudley could slip through. Dudley passed through with surprising grace and quiet, handing Harry the tray as he thanked him and continued inside.

Dudley's eyes passed over the room of his discarded belongings with a kind of nostalgic contempt that, again, shocked Harry. He had a moment to wonder sedately if this was some clever plan by Voldemort to shock him into a heart attack before Dudley spoke again.

"I was such a snotty little fuck, wasn't I?" The comment itself was almost enough to make Harry smirk, until he remembered from whence it came. Again, Dudley was speaking before he could reply.

"When I started Smeltings, I thought it would make me just like my dad. I still can't decide whether I wanted that or not, not even after these years. I was used to how things were here, used to getting my way, being the biggest kid on the block, the most feared. Then I started Smeltings. My first term there taught me a valuable lesson. No matter how tough you think you are, there is always someone tougher, just waiting.

I can't even remember how many times my old habits got my arse kicked!" The last was said with a kind of cheerful chagrin that made Harry, even as mesmerized by this story, and the boy telling it, as he was, grin faintly. But then the somber voice was back, and Dudley was talking again.

"The counselors at school started asking questions when I became chronically depressed. I knew something was wrong, I just couldn't figure out what, couldn't allow myself to contemplate that it may be me.

When I started the boxing team in an effort to keep from getting pounded, I didn't realize that the coach was also one of the school counselors, and the father of a girl I fancied." At the thought of the girl, Dudley smiled, soft and sweet, and Harry thought he felt that heart attack coming at the sight of it. Dudley in love.

"I had spent the summer with you and my gang, doing the things that we always did, but by the end of the first term of second year, I realized it wasn't the fun it used to be. It was that, that finally made me agree to see Mr, Jacobson. He had been trying for some months, and considering I wanted in with his daughter, I felt he was the best choice. At first, it was just casual boxing sessions before dinner, nothing heavy, but the more I got to know him, the more I realized what a great guy he was, and what a complete shmuck Vernon and I are. It hit me like a ton of bricks during the third week. I had always thought that I should be just like him." Here Dudley paused, his eyes out the window and searching the horizon, seeing only the memories of a night that had changed him, one of the most defining of his life, like he knew this day would be.

"It was the first time I had cried, really cried, since infancy. I pretended but, never real tears. Never real. I thought I should be ashamed," he smiled," but Mr. Jacobson told me I was courageous." Now he was grinning. "Now you know I've been called lots of things, but never that. He told me it took more courage to see ourselves and try to improve than almost anything else. It was then I knew I could trust him, with almost all of it. I sat down with him that Saturday and told him everything, about our lives, how I was raise, how you were raised, all the horrible things I'd done. I even told the man I had the hots for his daughter." They both grinned at that one, neither realizing that this was the first such moment they had ever shared in all the years they had lived under the same roof.

"Everything with the counseling was going okay. I was finally starting to learn who I was, you know? Trying to understand that I didn't have to be a carbon-copy of my father, that I had a responsibility to myself. But that didn't mean I wasn't still afraid. It took weeks to figure out what of. I was afraid of my own father. I spent every summer pretending everything was the same so he wouldn't notice anything, suspect anything. I was so terrified of him. As far as I knew, he'd never even yelled at me in my life, so why was I afraid of him more than anything else? Why was I still pretending for him?

Then," a hesitation, almost a pause," I cornered you in that alley. There were those creatures." This time, it was a pause. Dudley, again, appeared to be seeing something in his mind's eye, only this time, Harry, too, remembered. He remembered the sick knot of fear and the icy cold as the Dementors crept closer. He could almost hear the sharp rattle of their breathing, and so, he was very gratefully when Dudley began to speak again.

"I remember things, Harry. Things I should've been far to young to remember. It was like a flood, of so many things. It took me months of nightmares and late-night sessions to put it all together. So many things, Harry. Floating bottles and flickering t.v. channels and toys dancing in mid-air. Rattles changing to lollies and stuffed animals roaring like real ones." Dudley was clearly rambling now and Harry was flabbergasted at the things he was saying, so let him keep going, watching as he huddled into himself more with each passing word, hoping at the end, he could make sense of it all.

"There was a man, a man like you and a light stick and a light and it hurt. It hurt so much. And it stopped. The rattles stayed rattles and the toys didn't dance and the channels wouldn't change and you were sad, so sad Haiwy." Harry hadn't blinked as a huddled Dudley's knees hit the floor, but hearing the child-like nickname sent a now familiar jolt through him.

"I just wanted you at play, Haiwy. Just wanted you not to be sad, to be happy, like before with the dancing toys. Just for a lil bit, Haiwy. He won't be mad.

"But he was mad." Suddenly, it was the adult Dudley's voice again, eyes still glazed, as were Harry's now, both trapped in a memory of two four-year-old boys playing in the garden as the sunset blazed a bloody trail across the lower sky. Neither one of them had seen the furious visage of Vernon Dursley staring at Harry, who was supposed to have been weeding.

Both boys started as a dark shadow settled heavily over them. With a pure horror only the very young could feel, they both looked up, spotting for the first time, the looming disaster in the form of the man standing above them. Though Harry was used to being on the receiving end of his uncle's rage and the punishment that promptly insued, Dudley, to this point, had been the prodigal son, though supposedly very ill, and could be forgiven his confusion, as they both stood, he, slightly in front of his cousin.

"Hi daddy." At the lack of reply, or even acknowledgement, Dudley's confusion increased.

"We was jus playin, daddy." His father had never denied him the right to do as he pleased, so, surely, with this explanation, his father would be pacified.

"Go inside, Dudley." Dudley started to protest. He wanted Harry to play with him some more, but Harry touched his arm, hushing him as he watched Vernon's face turn from a furious red, to apoplectic purple. At the gesture, Vernon exploded.

"KEEP YOUR FILTHY FREAK HANDS OFF MY SON!"

"But da-" Before he could finish, he was on the ground, the left side of his face on fire, staring up into the angry eyes of who he thought was his father. But his daddy never hit him

"And you better not go near this freak every again. You're MY SON and I won't have you infected by his FREAKISNESS ANYMORE, UNDERSTAND?!" Dudley was terrified now. His father had never got mad at him, ever. In his confused pain, all he could do was nod as his father grabbed his cousin, his playmate, his friend, by the arm and dragged him inside, screaming about his lazy, freakishness, and how his parent's had been no better, a blight on normal, decent folk. He didn't know what a freak was, or why his father would say that about Harry. He didn't know why his father was mad, why he'd been hit. He always played with whoever he wanted to. His father said he could. Later, when he noticed Harry wasn't at dinner, he realized he was being punished again, going without food again, and all because Dudley had wanted to be his friend.

Harry remembered the beating he'd gotten, remembered being shoved in his room, remembered lying, in pain, on the little cot and listening to the lock click into place. When he heard his family at the dinner table, he tried to crawl out of his cot and lean against the door, hoping to at least be able to smell the food he'd, again, be denied. But the pain of jolting his already fragile and tired body was too much. With fiery pain, his body protested and promptly, he passed out, still futiley leaning half against the door.

He woke several hours later to quiet sobbing outside his door and a whispery phrase repeating itself over and over again, like a prayer, the repetition of which, after all these years, pulled him out of his revery.

"I'm sowwy, Haiwy, so sowwy. I'm sowwy, Haiwy, so sowwy." Harry remembered that Dudley's bullying had started soon after, getting progressively worse the happier about it Vernon got. Dudley was the prodigal son again and Harry had never felt more alone. Haltingly, Harry moved off his bed and over to the huddled form of his cousin, who had grown as much this past summer, it seemed, as he himself had. He knelt across from Dudley, watching him rock back and forth, murmuring and weeping in that child-like voice. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around the much larger boy, holding him as he cried. The crying changed from a child's to the weeping of an adult who's heart had been broken.

They knelt there for some time as Dudley slowed his tears. If Harry hadn't been holding him so tightly, he might have missed what he said next.

"I am so sorry, Harry, more than I can ever say."

"I know. So am I." Bloody Hell, he thought forcefully. What the hell was he supposed to do now?


	4. Fear, Revelation, and Gardening

**A.N. ** As requested, another chappie for you to enjoy. Again, I'd like to thank all of you that reviewed my story and continue to read it. Since I've been, more or less, housebound, I'll have more time to get more writing done so you can probably expect another chapter in the next week or so. Yippie! Keep reading and enjoy.

**Chapter Title**: Fear, Revelation, and Gardening

The entire scene had left both young men more than a bit uncomfortable, so it was with little effort that Harry convinced Dudley to leave the room. He did, however, promise to talk to him more about the 'man with the light stick' and what it all might have meant, later. There were far too many holes in both of their memories for either of them to feel particularly confident. Dudley told Harry that he'd come back up for the tray later and that he'd been in the backyard, gardening. Apparently, Mr. Jacobson had advised Dudley that exercise would help him work off his frustration and confusion without hurting anyone while he learned to understand and control it. And Meredith, Mr. Jacobson's daughter, liked flowers.

After Dudley left the room, Harry spent a few minutes staring off into space, reliving the unearthed memory of he and Dudley as innocent children. He had been happy that day. He recalled feeling like he finally had a friend, that maybe, if he could make his cousin happy, it would make his Aunt and Uncle happy too. Then, maybe, they'd love him like they loved Dudley. The recollection of the simple hopes of his childhood and the swift dissolution that had come later should've left him feeling upset, well, more upset.

He should have been furious, should have felt indignant at the wrongs that had been done him and his cousin. The memory had made it clear that the hostility that had helped shape his terrible childhood could be laid directly at the feet of his Uncle. He had always thought that he had been the only one hurt by how they had raised him. But now, to see the young man that Dudley was becoming, to see him change so much in, what seemed no time at all, was startling. It lead credence to their memories. If something that seemed so simple from the outside could have such a vast impact on a person's life, on how they saw themselves, then how many of the simple things that Vernon had done could've destroyed him? How close had both of them come to being just like him, in some fashion?

Instead of making him angry, it made him thoughtful. He thought about fate, of all things. How might things have been different if he hadn't had adults in his life like Mr. and Mrs. Weasley? Hadn't had Professor McGonagall's steady sense of fairness and Hagrid's simple honesty and joy? Even Professor Snape as a constant reminder that not everyone was nice, but that didn't make them evil, either. Snape had been the seeming bane of his existence, along with Malfoy, for a number of years, but Snape had always been constant, as had Malfoy. They never claimed to feel anything they didn't. They didn't pretend to be good people, to be charitable or kind. They just were. Friends would lie to you, keep things from you if they thought they had good enough reasons. Enemies, however, you could always count on to show you exactly how they felt, exactly how they saw you. They didn't have any reason to be nice, to not want to hurt your feelings. If you knew where to look, you could find more honesty among seeming adversaries than in any friend.

But what to do when an enemy becomes more than just a friend. What happens when, where you once saw an adversary, you know saw the potential for family?

Deciding to put aside yet more confusion, this time of the Dudley Dursley variety, Harry went back to his presents, Hermione's ever predictable book. "Auror to Hit Wizards: A citizen's guide to the Mystery of Defense" by Omen Cane. On top was a note from Hermione.

Dumbledore suggested this book since you said you wanted to be an Auror. We thought it might help.

Love,

Hermione Granger

Again, Harry felt a slight chill at reading this little note. It was only two sentences, but, somehow, he wasn't surprised when Dumbledore's name came up. He and Ron had always joked about how much Hermione looked up to the Professors at Hogwarts, but her zealotry was becoming frightening.

At the thought, he froze. Zealotry? It's that a bit harsh? Then, as he re-read both of Hermione's notes, he had to conclude, reluctantly, that his choice of words was the right one. I guess when you've been personally rescued by the most well-respected wizard since Merlin, you get a bit star-struck. He grinned a bit at the recollection of the reaction of the entire female student population when Gilderoy Lockhart became a professor. Where, in the past, thoughts of him had dampened Harry's mood, he could now look past that to the brighter realization that the man was officially out of his cork and safely locked away. Quite a silver lining. Besides, Gilderoy had been a lesson in the importance of appearances, if nothing else.

Shaking himself out of the light daze he had succumb to, Harry put Hermione's present aside and picked up Neville's letter and gift, his faint cheer returning at the vast changes the young man had undergone in such a short time. Hopefully, this missive will be less confusing than the last two, he thought, just before the recognition spell was triggered. Later, he would swear never to say such a thing, ever again!

Salutations Lord Harrolden of Potter and Black,

I send you this missive to wish you a blessed coming of age. I hope this finds you well and happy on this most auspicious occasion. It is my wish to seek out your company for a brief repast after our mutual obligations have been met before the House of Lords this upcoming season. It is my belief that we may find in each other common ambitions and similar goals with which to base a lasting acquaintance.

Yours Sincerely,

Lord Neville Franklin Augustine of the Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom

P.s. Sorry for all the fancy writing, Harry. The book Ron and Ginny sent you should explain it. I do hope you had a happy birthday and wish we could all spend ours together. I may not understand what you're going through, but I do understand lose. I just wanted you to know that you didn't loose everything, that there will always be people who are willing to stand beside you, friends and family, as long as you'll have us. We may not always know everything, but we know enough to know where we belong. _Veneratio, Cruor, quod Fidelitas. _

Honor, Blood, and Loyalty.

The Motto of the House of Longbottom. Straightforward and to the point, more or less like it's present Lord. The thought of whom, made Harry smile, almost grin, even after the frown of concentration it had taken to wade through that short, but verbose letter. I guess he'd just have to study that book to figure out why it had taken so much to arrange a get-together after the Wizengamot meeting. And why discuss an alliance when they have been friends at least since second year, and on friendly terms during first year? The smile melted away, but the frown didn't return. The end of the note was too much like the new Neville that had emerged this past year, calmer, more confident, and even a bit wise. It was like having him in the room. It was good to see that, even with the vast confusion that had been this day, some things were still the same.

Turning to the second envelope that had come with Neville's letter, he opened it to find… a _gift certificate?_

The Familiar Familiar

37 Regent Street

Knockturn Alley

11:00p.m.-3:00a.m.

The oldest and most distinguished establishment specializing in the determination and provision of the healthiest and most powerful familiars in Wizarding England. Our highly trained ani-witches and -wizards will quickly and efficiently ascertain the most suitable magical companion for the newly matured young witch or wizard. After which, our exceedingly efficient clerical staff will seek out the best possible specimen of the pre-determined species for your approval. Once yourself and your familiar are matched, we will, of course, provide all the necessary accoutrements for your familiar's continued health and well-being.

Here at The Familiar Familiar, we have a spotless reputation and history of providing the best quality service since 1873. We absolutely guarantee the satisfaction of every customer. When you enter our establishment, you enter our family.

This gift certificate is redeemable for one free animus confrontation, one familiar on premises. Additional confrontations, animal(s) not already on premises, and animal accoutrements not included. Bonding rituals can be preformed on premises, for additional charge. Once familiar had left premises, we take no responsibility for any damage and/or injury it incurs.

And once again, Harry's world is plunged into confusion. Harry had never heard about actual bonded familiars, let alone any store that sold them. For the newly matured young witch or wizard? Do they mean legally or magically? And why would Neville give him a gift certificate to a shop in Knockturn Alley, especially one that was only open in the middle of the night? And if this shop was the best in Wizarding England, why was it even in Knockturn Alley in the first place? How were they supposed to get decent customers surrounded by Dark Arts shops and shady business people? People who's loyalty wasn't so much questionable as non-existent.

Adding yet another missive to the large pile of things-to-be-discussed-later, preferably with someone who had, at least once, seen something that vaguely resembled a clue, he turned to Luna Lovegood's package. The irony of looking to Luna for a sense of normalcy wasn't lost on him one bit.

Dear Harry,

Neville told me it was your birthday and I thought I should send you a warning about Snick-toads. Do you know that they always attack on the day after the first ascension and will keep attacking, sucking up all your magic until after the third?! The lucky victims are just squibs, but some are sucked so dry that their bodies dissolve and they become ghosts. Be careful if you feel sudden weakness. You might want to wear a bit of oregano and bayberry bark. They can't take the smell.

Love,

Luna

The letter was, of course, shorter than he'd expected, with Luna's occasional tendency to ramble, but it was so like Luna, insanely logical and completely out of left field, that it made him faintly smile. He had no idea what an 'ascension' was or what it had to do with his birthday in particular, but it made sense that if there was a being feeding on such a thing as magical ascensions, it would stay for all of them, of which there were apparently three.

He suddenly squinted to himself. That actually made a bit more sense. Frightening. Forestalling thoughts of a world seen strictly through Luna-vision, he turned to her birthday card. He ripped the simple, muggle-looking envelope open and spilled the contents into his hand. There was a slip of parchment with Luna's writing on it.

All it said was:

A memory of Joy

The other item was a wizarding picture. It seemed to be from his second year. It was a picture of Ron, Hermione, Neville, and himself. They seemed to be heading for the castle, coming from the direction of the greenhouses. They were all laughing and happy, which was unusual back then for Neville, which was one of the ways he knew from whence they must have come. It _was_ a moment of carefree joy for them. Just some kids having fun after class.

He had forgotten how much he missed that, the brief moments of childhood in his, sometimes, suddenly and violently, too-adult life. Moments like the one photographed had become increasingly few and far-between and would only continue to be more so. The war was coming, inevitable as a natural disaster, and whether he liked it or not, he and his friends were going to end up smack in the middle of it. Where, before, the thought would've frightened him silly, he could feel a grin split his face, of the fierce and entirely unpleasant variety. That, too, should've frightened him, but he had backed down for the last time. When Voldemort came for him and his, he was determined that they would be prepared and Voldemort would rue the day he ever spat the name Harry Potter.

At last he came to the final birthday package which was, of course, from Hagrid. He expected an effusive, though slightly difficult to read, letter filled with the gruff presence of his very first real friend, but the letter was written in an elegant hand that clearly wasn't Hagrid's, his only contribution at the very bottom.

Dear Harry,

Hagrid was having some difficulty finding an appropriate gift for this most special of birthdays, so he agreed to let me help decide. Enclosed you will find a bell, it is linked to an old friend of yours, or so Hagrid has told me. He has told me of your life away from your dear Hogwarts and we both decided that this would make your time away more bearable.

Sincerely,

Madame Maxime

Hagrid

'Appy Birtday, Harry.

Included in the small velvet pouch was a plain, but very beautiful silver bell, the handle made of a faintly glowing white wood. It was small enough to sit in the palm of his hand and was clearly expertly crafted. A part of him ached to ring it and hear it's clear, shining tones, but the letter said that Hagrid had chosen the 'friend' to which it was linked and the list of Hagrid's friends was rather dangerous. Until he knew exactly how the bell worked and whom it would summon, he'd leave it on his desk, a simple ornament, until he was desperate enough to take such a chance. That would hopefully be very far in the future.

Harry returned to the tray Dudley had brought up to him, inspecting the large platter of breakfast foods arranged therein. It not only looked and smelled edible, it was actually quite delicious. Something he could probably attribute to the mysterious Mr. Jacobson. He took the tray and sat on his chair in front of the window overlooking the back yard. He chewed thoughtfully. He had weeks to contemplate the books his friends gave him, but he didn't know how long he'd have with this new and improved Dudley before the elder Dursley's returned and appearances had to, once again, be maintained.

So he ate slowly and watched Dudley gardening, his mind moving swiftly, sifting effortlessly, again and again, through the slightly fragmented memories their episode had provoked. It wasn't until he witnessed something astonishing in the garden that a few of the pieces fell, unexpectedly into place.

Below him, Dudley was kneeling in the dirt before Petunia's prized primroses, eyeing them almost contemplatively, before reaching out a hand and grabbing a trowel out of the air beside him and returning to work. He didn't even seem to notice what he'd done, wandlessly summoning the tool to him from across the yard. Harry was off his chair and in the back yard faster than thought. He stood on the back porch and breathed in the deep scent of wild magic the permeated the air around Dudley.

Dudley was a wizard! He had magic!

The rage in him came so swiftly it stole his breath. It was one thing to deny his heritage, to try to stomp the magic out of him, but they had done more than that to Dudley. They had tried to bind his magic, to actually stop it from ever manifesting! They had tried to steal away his birthright. They had tried to steal something so elemental from him that it was like trying to steal away his soul. Having lived in the Wizarding World, more or less, these last few years, he knew how important magic was to those who had it. It wasn't just a skill or talent, it was the air they breathed. It shaped their every thought and perception. A wizard's very self worth was often based on their magic. There had even been those that had died in attempting to do what they had done to Dudley.

He was so lost in his rage, he didn't notice Dudley until he yelped in surprised, standing in front of Harry, cradling his right hand to his chest. The hand appeared covered in a thin veil of already melting frost. The shock of Dudley suddenly being so close gave him the control he needed to reign his magic in. The last thing he needed was for the Ministry to bug him about underage use of magic. He had better things to do than deal with bureaucrats, like help his cousin.

"I know what happened, Dudley." His voice was calm, almost cold, and only a touch sad. The shock of possibly, finally, receiving answers was enough to block out any lingering pain from his hand, now thawed, hand. He looked at Harry imploringly.

"Tell me, please." As Harry opened his mouth to speak, he noticed Dudley tensed, as if to receive a blow. And he will, he thought, not unkindly.

"Someone, presumably, the man with the wand, tried to block your magic, bind it somehow so that you would never have access to it. You're a wizard, Dudley, just like me, and someone didn't want you to have magic enough to risk your life to stop it from manifesting." He kept the explanation as short and to-the-point as possible.

"My life?" he asked. Harry paused.

"People have died going through what that wizard did to you."

Harry had expected a lot of different reactions from Dudley, horror, fear, resentment, denial. What he didn't expect was the overwhelming sense of rage that swept out of Dudley like the blast of a furnace. If Harry's anger had been a winter storm, Dudley's was the summer sun, beating down with all it's unrelenting heat on the both of them as it swept out.

Harry didn't reach for Dudley as Dudley had for him, but watched and waited. He wasn't surprised, after a moment, by what he heard.

"Father. After all this time," he murmured. "I was so jealous of you, of the powers you had, the world you could escape into. You could be yourself there, where I couldn't here. I tried to pretend that it didn't exist, that he was right. That everything he said and did was okay. Even after Mr. Jacobson took me on, I could still believe in my father, a little, if magic was still wrong. I could still pretend that my childhood wasn't a complete lie, that you and I were so different because you were a-" here, he paused, took a deep breath and whispered, "Because you were a wizard. I wanted what you had and was ashamed. When all those strange things happened, I felt them. Felt them inside and wanted… wanted something so bad I ached. I wan-" Abruptly, he cut himself off and focused on Harry, determination blazing in his eyes, hot and hostile.

"How do I fix this? How do I get my magic back?"

Harry smiled.

Harry told Dudley about his magic having manifested just that afternoon, the thought of which seemed to give him hope. He told Dudley that this was entirely uncharted territory for him but he was going to ask around and see if there was any way for him to be sure his magic was fully released. He, personally, wasn't sure how he was going to ask around, with his post being blocked, but he was determined to find a way. He also promised Dudley that if they could be sure that his magic was completely free, that he would find a way to teach him everything he'd ever learned about magic, even get him a wand to use. They were, of course, too preoccupied to notice that both of them sported faintly, and slightly identical, malicious grins at the thought of Dudley finally possessing a wand, something his father would surely disapprove of, violently and all over the place.

Dudley informed Harry that his parents would be gone for the next week and they had the whole house to themselves for the interim. They had even left emergency cash. There were, however, chores that needed doing. They both agreed readily to split the chores equally. Dudley asked Harry to tell him about the Wizarding World and magic in the between times. In response, he gave Dudley a copy of his first year textbooks and even a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ Hermione had finally convinced him he should buy.

While Dudley was studying, wonder of wonders, Harry took out a calendar and counted out thirteen days, how long he had to meet the goblins at Gringotts and claim his inheritance. Not only did he have to find away to get himself away without his relatives suspecting, he had to find a way to enter and leave the Wizarding World without Dumbledore finding out. Though he was relatively sure there weren't any guards on him while in the muggle world (where would he go?), there were almost certain to be guards in Diagon Alley. He had to find a way to get in and out undetected, which would be hard considering his own personal notoriety.

That's when inspiration struck. As much as he loathed his fame, most people only saw what they expected to see when Harry-Potter-spotting, green eyes, slightly pale skin, black, unruly hair, and a lightening bolt scar. If he could find some non-magical way of changing all those, he just might be able to get through long enough to do what needed done and get out. The wizarding world was so used to depending on magic for such things that muggle means often slipped by the wayside. It shouldn't take much to change his appearance just enough that he could go unrecognized for a few hours. If he hurried, he might even be able to make the trip before his muggle relatives came back. He would, of course, take his wand, invisibility cloak, and even the bell from Hagrid. If things got bad enough, quickly enough, he just might need it.

It, admittedly, wasn't much of a plan, but it was all he could come up with on such short notice. He needed to find out about his inheritance. The last thing he wanted was to put his heritage in the hands of the Great Puppet Master, Albus Dumbledore. He hadn't failed to notice that the man hadn't even bothered to send him a message on his birthday. Though he had only magically matured, it was still a momentous occasion and if he'd really had his best interests at heart, he would've at least sent a quick note to ask after him. Even that, it seemed, was beneath him. No, he had to find a way to put his inheritance completely back within his own sole control, keep it there, and keep Dumbledore from noticing for as long as possible. He had some serious slytherin-esque plotting to do.

He felt himself smile.


	5. Finances, Titles, and a New Friend

**Chapter Title: Finances, Titles, and a New Friend**

**A.N.** I'm sooooo sorry for taking so long to update! So much has happened to me this past year that it's just been crazy! I didn't even have a computer, let alone internet for a few months. I also had serious health problems, and financial problems, and writer's block. When I got a review from Pickle-Kitten (THANKS SOO MUCH!), I took a long, hard look at both my stories. I've finally got a better idea again of where this one is going. I'm going to switch between writing on this one and Legend, so don't be surprised if it takes me a minute to get another chappie up. But I'm not gonna abandon my baby or leave it so long again! Promise!

**Enjoy!**

The next few days quickly established a pattern for the two young men. They took turns preparing each meal and cleaning up afterwards. The mornings were taken up with thier shared chores list, a list that, without Dudley's stalwart help, he knew he never would have been able to complete, magic or not. H knew, once he saw the list, that that had been exactly the point.

Then lunch, where they discussed the magical world and everything Dudley had read so far. Though he knew Dudley'd come a long way, it was still fairly apparent that he still had some trouble with reading comprehension, which obviously still frustrated him. But he still put that admirable determination to good use and learned a great deal in a short amount of time. It wasn't long before all three meals and tea was filled with talk of the Wizarding World. He even asked several questions about magic itself that even gave Harry pause.

Such as why wandless magic was supposedly nearly impossible as an adult when children did it all the time before recieving thier first wand? And were wands always used to perform magic? Did every wizard in the world use the same types of wands? And why do wand movements and words matter if the wand is only a focus? He'd never thought about any of those questions before and decided to look them up himself at the earliest opportunity.

In the evenings, they, once again, went thier own seperate ways. Most evenings found Dudley on the phone, somber and laughing by turns when talking to the Jacobsons, and wheedling and superior when talking to his parents. After those calls, Dudley usually came up and knocked on Harry's door. Harry would let him in and Dudley sat by the window, silently looking out at the quiet night, an event that, at one time, would've made Harry uncomfortable with silent sympathy and helplessness. And while he still felt some twinge of that sympathy, he understood that he was doing something helpful, by being with Dudley without prying, something he had plenty of experience with.

It was, however, on one such occassion when Dudley gave him some unexpected, but pleasant news.

"Dad's decided that since I'm doing such a good job _handling_ you," though the sarcasm was thick, the desperation wasn't, "that they can afford to spend another week at Marge's."

Harry refrained from comment. He could tell that whatever had been weighing so heavily on Dudley, besides the obvious, would probably come out tonight. There was a lengthy pause, Dudley still not having turned from his contemplation of the night.

"I can't stay here anymore." His voice was quiet and a bit lost as he spoke. Harry wasn't surprised by this. In fact, a fleeting part of him feared that, after what had transpired that first day, nothing may ever truely surprise him again.

Harry waited.

"I can't keep doing this. Pretending to be someone I'm not, hell, may never have been! I thought I could but I can't!" He gave an exasperated sigh. "Especially not now, not knowing what I know. Knowing what they had done to me. Magically nuetered, like some breeding bull past it's prime!" Harry had never thought about it that way, but he supposed it did make a twisted sort of sense.

"I still love them, you know? I see them, how they are, what they've done, but they're still my parents. I can't turn all that off. Eventhough I sometimes wish I could. It'd be easier, the leaving.

When he paused again, Harry asked, "Where will you go?"

At that, Dudley smile, though it was more than slightly sad. "I've been saving up the pocket money they've been sending me and I've also worked every summer since that first one and saved the money. If need be, I can afford a small flat 'til end of summer. My school term's are paid for in advance, so even if I have nowhere to go during summer, I'll be able to complete school." He shrugged. "It's something."

"Well I'm sure Mr. Jacobson won't mind temporarily housing his future son-in-law." At that, Dudley blushed, but they both chuckled. Then Harry rose, went over, and stood beside him, watching the dark. The silence thickened like the night, until Harry put his hand on Dudley's shoulder.

"Soon, Dudley, I promise," was all he said.

Harry spent his nights going over his packet of estates' information he'd recieved from Gringott's. Eventhough the unexpected delay in the return of the elder Dursley's gave him a great deal more leeway, he still only had so many days and would prefer to get it done sooner rather than give Bumbledore the chance to worm a way into more of his personal business. And he wanted to have a better idea of what was supposedly rightfully his before then. This was only one part of his plan and time was of the essence. He took a moment to reflect that such pressure usually made him a bit jumpy, but now, it only made him more focused and he set to the packets with vigor.

Though most of the accountings were fairly straightforward, the sheer scope of it all was still impressive. The money would be useful, especially when it came to keeping the things he needed quiet. Though goblins prided themselves on their honesty and reliability, and rightfully so, it was still considered good form to make sure they were well compensated for thier discretion, not only a sign of your financial prosperity but a further sign of your trust in them. Spying on Slytherins, upon occassion, did have it's uses. The only problem was the financial executor. Bumbledore, of course.

Another one of the main points of concern for him regarding the inheritances were thier sources. Besides his parents, the Traitor, and his godfather, he didn't know the other person. Qushare.

Abruptly, his mild irritation was replaced by a slightly less mild sense of confusion.

Sirius.

Where a mere five days ago, the thought of him would've sent his world reeling with pain and despair, all there was now was a hollow kind of sadness. Harry delved deeper, curious now. That couldn't be all.

Sirius Black.

There it was again, a deep, but still slightly distant sadness, like he had lost Sirius years ago and not mere weeks. He replayed the scene in the Ministry, the last few moments of his godfather's life, in his head and all that welled up was sadness, sorrow-tinged, of course, but not agony, not overwhelming grief. Thinking back, it wasn't hard to pinpoint the day this change started, his 16th birthday, his magical maturity.

Well, there wasn't aything he could do about it now, and undergoing months, maybe even years worth of grief in the course of days just may come in handy, under the extremely hectic and confusing circumstances. Making a mental note to do some research on magical inheritances, along with removing magical blocks, as soon as possible, he once again returned to scan the assets listed in the Gringott's packet.

The first papers were for the Potter Estates, which included the Bonfer and Dor Estates, a small parchment dedicated to each estate.

The Estate of the Noble and Ancient House of Potter.

Former Estate Holders: Duke and Dutchess James Ericsson Potter

Present Estate Holder(s): Duke Harrolden James Potter

Category of Inheritance: Direct Blood Heredity

Property(ies) include:

Eagle Hall

Cornwall

Gringott's Holdings: 3 Vaults

a) Trust Fund Vault-Personal; Direct Heredity (Accountants' Book Available)

-Trust Executor- Albus Dumbledore

b) Affects Vault- Personal; Inactive (Inventory Available)

c) Affects Vault- Hereditary; Passive (Portfolio Available)

The Estate of the Noble House of Bonfer

Former Estate Holders: Marquess and Marchioness James Ericsson Potter

Present Estate Holder(s): Marquess Harrolden James Potter

Category of Inheritance: Direct Blood Heredity

Property(ies) include: none

Gringott's Holdings: 1 Vault

a) Financial Vault- Personal; Inactive (Balance Book Available)

-Financial Executor- Albus Dumbledore

The Estate of the Noble House of Dor

Former Estate Holders: Duke and Duchess James Ericsson Potter

Present Estate Holder(s): Duke Harrolden James Potter

Category of Inheritance: Direct Blood Heredity

Property(ies) include:

Pride Hall

Wales

Gringott's Holdings: none

The Estate of the House of Pettigrew

Former Estate Holder: Baronet Peter Timothy Pettigrew

Present Estate Holder(s): Baronet Harrolden James Potter

Category of Inheritance: Direct Conscript Heredity

Property(ies) include:

1 Nominal Summer Residence

Outskirts of London

Gringott's Holdings: 1 Vault

a) Financial Vault- Personal; Inactive (Balance Book Available)

Financial Executor- none

The Estate of the Ancient House of Prewitt

Former Estate Holder: Peter Timothy Pettigrew

Present Estate Holder(s): Harrolden James Potter

Category of Inheritance: Direct Conscript Heredity

Property(ies) include: none

Gringott's Holdings: 1 Vault

a) Affects Vault- Personal; Inactive (Inventory Available)

The Estate of the Noble and Ancient House of Black

Former Estate Holder: Duke Sirius Orion Black

Present Estate Holder(s): Duke Harrolden James Potter

Category of Inheritance: Direct Magical Heredity

Property(ies) include:

Black Townhouse

Grimmauld Place, London

Black Manor

Wales

Gringott's Holdings: 3 Vaults

a) Financial Vault- Personal;Inactive (Balance Book Available)

Financial Executor- Albus Dumbledore

b) Affects Vault- Personal; Inactive (Inventory Available)

c) Affects Vault- Hereditary; Passive (Trace Inventory Available)

The Estate of the Noble and Ancient House of Hilmana

Former Estate Holder: Sultan Sirius Orion Black (Unacknowledged)

Presente Estate Holder(s): Sultan Harrolden James Potter (Unacknowledged)

Category of Inheritance: Direct Magical Heredity

Property(ies) include:

Palace of the Feline

Qattara, Egypt

Gringott's Holdings: 3 Vaults

a) Financial Vault- Personal; Passive (Balance Book Available)

Financial Executor- none

b) Affects Vault- Personal; Inactive (Inventory Available)

c) Affects Vault- Hereditary; Passive (Trace Inventory Available)

The Estate of the Noble and Ancient House of Jarhandi

Former Estate Holder: Caliph Sirius Orion Black (Unacknowledged)

Present Estate Holder: Caliph Harrolden James Potter (Unacknowledged)

Category of Inheritance: Direct Magical Heredity

Property(ies) include:

Serpent Palace

Farafra, Egypt

Gringott's Holdings: 3 Vaults

a) Financial Vault- Personal; Passive (Balance Book Available)

Financial Executor- none

b) Affects Vault- Personal; Inactive (Inventory Available)

c) Affects Vault- Hereditary; Passive (Trace Inventory Available)

The Estate of the Noble House of Ekor

Former Estate Holder: Sirius Orion Black

Present Estate Holder(s): Harrolden James Potter

Category of Inheritance: Direct Magical Heredity

Property(ies) include: Unknown

Gringott's Holdings: 1 Vault

a) Undisclosed Vault

The Estate of the Noble and Ancient House of Qushare

Former Estate Holder: Lady Eirena

Present Estat Holder(s): Lord Harrolden James Potter

Category of Inheritance: Direct Blood Heredity (Maternal)

Property(ies) include:

2 Residential Properties

Location Unspecified

Gringott's Holdings: 7 Vaults

a) Financial Vault-Business;Passive (Investment Book Available)

Financial Executor- none

b) Financial Vault- Personal;Inactive (Balance Book Available)

Financial Executor-none

c) Financial Materials Vault-Hereditary;Passive (Material Lists/Inventory Available)

Financial Executor-none

d) Affects Jewel Vault- Hereditary;Inactive (Jewel Catalogue Available)

e) Affects Vault- Personal;Inactive (Inventory Available)

f) Bibliograph Vault- Hereditary; Passive (Book Catalogue Available)

g) High Security Vault- Hereditay

As he scanned the papers again, several things stood out for him. The first were the titles. There were several, all from different estates, apparently, but some of them were foreign. As a resident of Wizarding Great Britain, could he even hold such high titles in foreign governments? And if so, which titles took presidence? And what did the unacknowledged bit signify? Did that mean that his godfather hadn't been aware that he held those titles? Or had he known and just chosen to ignore them? And what must he do, if it was possible, to become acknowledged?

His questions regarding the vaults and their various titles and statuses and accountings could wait until he spoke directly with Chieftain Mrand. He just hoped the Chieftain could also explain how he had a maternal Wizarding inheritance when it was well known that his mother had been muggleborn.

There was also the vague directions when it came to the locations of any of his properties, not even mentioning the ones that weren't specified at all. He'd need to know where those properties were and who exactly had access to them and so forth. With the increase in time that the elder Dursley's would be gone, it may even be possible to inspect a few of them.

It was the thought of going alone to an unknown Wizarding property while the only available ally he had, Dudley, was here, alone that brought about a few ideas. Dudley wanted to see the Wizarding world. His continual questions about life within it showed that clearly. And Harry knew that even if Dudley had been a muggle, which he most certainly wasn't, if accompanied by a wizard, he could be taken to Diagon Alley. That, too, would help his cover. If the Order were watching for him to appear, they'd assume he'd come alone. And those that had seen Dudley wouldn't immediately recognize him, not as much as he'd changed. Harry had hardly recognized him. It might also be fun to take Dudley with him to The Familiar Familiar. A learning experience for both of them, as Harry still wasn't sure what the shop was on about. He had put aside the question of the safety of Knockturn Alley at night. Even if he didn't trust the Alley, he trusted Neville. He had earned it time and again. He would trust, again, that he knew what he was doing by sending Harry there. If they went after their visit to Gringott's, he could probably even take out some money to get Dudley a familiar. He'd also like to get him a wand, but he didn't trust Olivander's to be nearly discrete enough, let alone being able to fit him so late in his life with a suitable wand. He'd have to look into that as well.

Decided, he went to bed, his mind still whirling with ideas for how to get both himself and Dudley in and out of Diagon Alley without being discovered while still letting Dudley get a good look at Wizarding life. If nothing else, it should be interesting.

And once again, five days after Her first visit, Fate smiled sadly down on one of Her children. She was a manifestation of Universal Law, but that didn't stop her from feeling sympathy for one she would touch so deeply. She watched as a small maelstrom descended, gliding along beams of silvery full-moonlight. Once the winds touched down, stirring nothing so much as the bed upon which Harry lay, they dissipated, leaving a fierce, white, feline in thier place. Neither the winds, nor the feline's light leap to his bed was felt by the sleeping wizard, though the powerful magical presence caused him to stir subtlely in his sleep.

He'd just settled when the feline placed both front paws against his shoulder blades, the touch light as air against his back. Harry sunk deeper. A moment later, his body stiffened as he hissed in his sleep, as the feline's claws dug into his skin, leaving eight ragged tears in his flesh, four against each shoulder blade. The blood flowed toward his spine like the tributaries to a river, before descending down his back, but not towards the sea. Instead, they wound their way directly to the small of Harry's back, where a small patch of coiled scales shimmered iridescently in the soft light. Once the blood reached the scales, they promptly froze, breaking into small fragments that glittered like rubies before falling into nothing. As the blood disappeared, so to did the furrows in his back, no more than faint silvery lines, as easy to dismiss as the scales.

The feline watched it all with the arrogant and dispassionate air of any other feline. When the blood and scarres faded, the feline knodded in seeming satisfaction, before, once again, being engulfed in the whirlwind. Again, the only disturbance was centered on the bed and the boy in it. The light softened still further as the maelstrom ascended once more.

It was the way of Fate never to look back, but just this once, she wished she could. It would be weeks before she was permitted to watch him so closely again. She smiled. And mortals say the Gods' don't mourn.


	6. Of Harrold, Leaning Goblin Towers, and

**A. N.** I'vebeen so caught up trying to smash through my writer's block regarding 'Legend' that I hadn't realized how long it had been since I'd worked on this story! I sincerly regret the delay. I hope the information I humbly offer up to you in this chapter will help assuage your anger! So, without further ado...

**Chapter Title:** _Of Harrold, Leaning Goblin Towers, and Inheritances_

Though Harry was already decided, it still took longer than he would've liked to set what they could in motion to insure their safety as much as possible. It seemed as if his days of calm aloofness had suddenly given way to a restless need for action. Thier was still a cool reptiline collectedness there that had been the root of his former dulled passions, but now the emotional numbness seemed to have receeded a bit, allowing the restless gryffindor lion in him a bit of leeway.

So, it was a slightly impatient Harry- Harrold, they had agreed to start calling him Harrold so it would be easier when they were in the Wizarding World- that found himself seated at the neat desk of the neat bedroom of one Dudley Dursley. In all of Harry's wildest imaginings, and he knew that since he'd been introduced to the Wizarding World, they'd only become wilder, he would never had thought that he'd be sitting in Dudley's room, let alone while Dudley himself was present. And never would he be letting anyone put make-up on him, let alone Dudley himself. He squirmed a bit at the thought, but was quickly stilled by Dudley's insistance.

"Hold still, Harr-Harrold!"

Dudley did something with a little stained sponge in his hand, dabbing and smoothing at his forehead, then pulled back. He stared at Harry-_Harrold_ damn!- before smiling and nodding towards the mirror behind Harry. What Harrold saw in the mirror shocked him. He was looking into the bright aqua eyes of a stranger.

He had protested, almost vehemently, the trip to the barder that Dudley had insisted on. He hadn't been able to deny his accusation that all there plans would be for nothing not _if_, but _when_ people took one look at his trademark messy hair. It hadn't taken nearly that much to get Harry to the optician. The contacts not only added a bit of blue to his startlingly green eyes, but corrected his vision a great deal more than his old glasses. Because of a sale they were running, he'd even gotten a new pair of lenses for his oft repaired frames. They had offered to replace them, but Harry had decided to keep them since, just like his hair, eye color, and scar, they were a part of the image of the Boy-Who-Lived.

Staring back at him from the reflective sureface, was a tanned, aqua-eyed, scarless brunette, hair liberaly streaked with blonde fell dark and slightly wavy just around his face. He decided, ruefully, that since he didn't recognize himself, there was little chance of anyone else recognizing him either, excepting the obvious, he thought, turning to Dudley, who was patiently awaiting his reaction.

"Perfect." He smirked as the little bit of tension in Dudley's shoulders eased. His smirk turned mischevious as he asked,"I don't really want to know how you know so much about make-up, do I?"

Dudley blushed and Harrold laughed.

They spent the rest of the day testing the lasting power of his disquise while they shopped for suitable clothes for Harrold. The name was still a bit awkward, but not as much as he felt it should've been. Though, he supposed some subconscious part of himself recognized the name as his, being so close to his birth name, Harrolden, even if it was new for the rest of him. When twelve hours had passed and the contacts stayed in place and the foundation had failed to run or crack and the name Harrold, Harrold Smith if anyone asked, came as easily as could be expected, and they had all the clothes they could possibly need for the next two days, they called their experiment a success and decided to head to Diagon Alley the very next afternoon. They had decided early on to make the trip during the busiest time of day for the added advantage of the crowd. They decided they'd do what cleaning needed to be done that morning, go that afternoon and hope to be done at the bank by the time they'd need to head home to await Vernon's call before returning to the Alley to wait until the Familiar Familiar was open. He hadn't told Dudley why they had to go to the bank, or even why they had to return to the Alley so late at night, but Dudley, sensing that whatever it was was private, didn't ask either.

As Harrold hadn't mentioned the not unconsiderable amount of money Dudley was spending on him. He knew that, despite his reassurances, Dudley couldn't afford to spend his money so freely, especially if he still insisted on not spending the remainder of his summer with his family. So Harrold had been keeping track of every pound, a running tab to be repaid when he had concluded his other business at Gringotts. It was the least he could do.

They did as much as they could the night before their trip, so there would be less to do the following morning. Besides, both had more than a bit of nervous energy to work off before they could even contemplate sleep. But sleep they did, free of the nightmares that had become thier constant companions over recent years. Alleviated by the knowledge that in a house that had born witness to so much of their pain, they were no longer alone.

The next morning was full of excited preparation, their chores done with a cheerfulness laden with the knowledge that the day ahead would be full of discovery. Once the house was cleaned, Dudley, again, carefully reapplied Harrold's make-up and they exited the house, heading for the bus that would take them to the nearest tube station that would take them into London proper. The ride would take a bit so both brought reading along. Dudley, of course, had taken a book on Quidditch, which, Harry was glad to see, fascinated Dudley as much as it had himself. Harrold had thought about bringing along Ron and Ginny's gift, but the book gave him a slight headache. It wasn't so much the slightly officious prose or out-of-date language. It was the history. Apparently, the Wizarding House of Lords was steeped in it. And history had been far from his strongest subject. That had usually been Hermione's department, but everytime he thought about going to her with it, her letter came to mind and the uneasiness he felt regarding her behaviour swelled slightly and he pushed the thought aside. He had finally decided that, if needs be, he'd go to Neville instead. He obviously knew, not only about the gift, but the House of Lords, himself, being both a pureblood and, now that he'd reached his majority, a Lord.

Instead, he'd brought _The Art of the Mind_. He was actually doing surprisingly well when it came to the meditative portions of his studies. Though he had found that, lately, his mind seemed to move at impossible speeds, and, sometimes, even in varying directions, when he concentrated enough, he could focus on one thought to the complete exclusion of all others. The first time Dudley had happened upon him in a meditative state in the gardens, Harry's concentration completely on the hyacinth before him, it had taken Dudley nearly panicking and reaching for him that finally got his attention, where his near shouting hadn't risen an eye. When he'd explained to Dudley what he was doing and, even, surprisingly, why, Dudley had decided to take up lessons with him. So it wasn't uncommon to see to pair sitting outside after chores and before dinner, staring at the flowers.

They were just getting to the lessons about clearing the mind completely, a surprisingly difficult task, and Harry had decided to reread the passages today on the trip.

_As you have endeavored to do before, you must now do again. Clear your mind of all thoughts save one, be it image, name, color, or person. Make of that one thing the entirety of your thoughts, releasing all others until there are no more, only black occupied by a singular thought. Watch as the object, etc, begins to fade, to become one with the black. Watch until there is nothing but the black, no thought, no sound, nothing. Only black. Thoughts will come, let them fade. Let them become the black. Do not grasp them. They are not important. Only the black._

It was a mild shock when Dudley nudged him as the train began to slow.

"This one is us." Dudley eyed Harrold curiously. He assumed the surprise must show on his face. He hadn't realized how hypnotic the author's words were, to the point where he had seen the blackness and all else had nearly fallen away. He was mildly irritated that the success he hadn't even been able to grasp two days ago had been so near to hand at a time that he couldn't exploit it. The story of his life really, he thought.

He and Dudley exited the tube station and headed to the Leaky Cauldron a few blocks over. He had told Dudley about it the best he could. Now all he could hope for was that Dudley wouldn't become as awe-struck as he himself had. They couldn't afford to attrack even idle attention. Such attention would mean they would be remembered, and that, they couldn't afford.

Luckily for them, the Leaky Cauldron was just crowded enough to get lost in, but not the wall-to-wall, pickpocket paradise that could be some muggle pubs. And, though he looked about curiously, even staring a bit from time to time, Dudley kept pace easily with Harrold as they moved towards the back door and the alleyway that lay beyond.

With wand drawn and back to the door, a move he would kick himself for later, he didn't see the smirk on Dudley's face as he pressed the appropriate brick to take them into the Wizarding World proper. But it wouldn't have bothered him. Dudley's expression wasn't malicious, but anticipatory. He was already imagining all the cool things he'd do once he got his wand. Though magic was still a bit of a frightening concept, the fear didn't stop him. It only motivated him. If there was one thing his new prospective had taught him, it was that conquering what frightened him made him stronger. And strength was still something he respected. Recent experience had merely added a bit of wisdom to his definition of it.

But those thoughts vanished under a wave of pure shock as he caught his first glimpse of Diagon Alley. It was Harrold's snickering that finally returned him to his senses. He gave Harrold a rueful smirk before he turned back to the bright cacophony of color and sound that was the Triad Alleys. However, it wasn't just the unexpectedness of the immensely forceful attack on his senses that gave him pause. He stood there, knowing he was on the threshold of another of those life-altering moments Fate seemed to take such wicked delight in thrusting upon him.

He could either step forward, entering into a world of living myths and magic, a world his own father had tried to teach him to despise, had literally risked his life to keep him away from. Or he could turn away, go back to his ordinay, muggle life, never knowing, never truly understanding the world he had been forced to give up, never understanding the yearning in his blood that came upon him for no concievable reason. (Once he was watching an owl fly over-head, for chrissake!) He could turn his back on magic, his childhood hopes, and the family he'd only just found.

He turned to look at Harrold, not Harry, the boy he'd tried to befriend, but had instead, ended up terrorizing. Harrold, the young wizard. The man that had laughed, cried, worked, read, and ate with him for over a week now. The man who had shared the darkness with him, silent and steady. The man that had saved his life, in more ways than one. He looked into his eyes and saw understanding, patience, and acceptance, acceptance of whatever he decided. That, more even than the singing in his blood decided him.

He stepped forward.

It was only through tremendous strength of will that Dudley managed to keep from lagging behind Harrold in his efforts to see everything at once. That, and the knowledge that once he got a wand, he'd be able to come back and explore as much as he wanted. The thought made him grin happily, until Harrold headed up the steps of a tall white building, that _leaned_! His jaw dropped for what seemed like the hundredth time in the last few minutes alone! All he could think was that the building was just waiting for him to step inside before it collapsed.

Harrold knew the instant Dudley wasn't following him anymore. And he didn't even have to contemplate the soft and fuzzy terror playing gleefully across his face to understand what was going through his mind.

"Trust me, it's more stable than it looks." His grin was decidedly mischievous as he looked down at Dudley. He hadn't realized how much fun it would be to bring him along. He'd just wanted someone trustworthy with him as he went to, once again, meet the unknown. He had had to stop himself numerous times from snickering allowed when he could literally hear Dudley's jaw hit the ground as they passed the Magical Menagerie, or drool as they passed Quality Quidditch Supplies. He _had_ heard him gasp several times at various and sundry other things along the way. Considering the unease that had permeated his thoughts regarding the upcoming meeting at Gringott's, the levity was definitely appreciated. When Dudley had returned to his, less stunned, self, they entered Gringott's. Harrold had warned Dudley about the goblins. And it seemed that, once again the preparation hadn't been for nothing. Though Dudley did stare a bit, he moved with Harrold.

As they approached a line in front of one of the perpetually grumpy goblin tellers, a goblin made it's way over to them.

"Gentlemen, you are both expected. Please follow me." With that, the goblin turned and headed deeper into the bank without looking back, automatically assuming they would follow. A safe assumption, Harrold thought. As they followed, Dudley glanced at Harrold and mouthed 'both'. Harrold simply shrugged, before they both faced the little goblin who had stopped to open a door at the opposite side of the bank from the entrance to the vault tunnels. They had commiserated on their shared confusion. And now, they were, hopefully being lead to someone who could alleviate it.

The door, of course, lead to a corridor, which ended at a door, which lead to yet another corridor. Thankfully, however, this one ended at a door into an office, Chieftain Ragnok oc Mrand of the Magical Inheritances Department's office to be exact. Or, at least that's what the plaque beside the door read.

They hadn't known what to expect when confronted with the idea of a goblin's office, Dudley because he'd never seen a goblin and Harrold because the only offices he'd seen had belonged to teachers. But, to both their relief, the office looked much like any other office. The walls, however, were curved. Not terribly unusual, thankfully. Along the back wall sat a desk, and seated behind it was a goblin. Chieftain Ragnok oc Mrand, presumedly. Before the desk sat two winged-back chairs. Displayed along the side stretches of curved stone were shields, suits of armor, and weapons, all old, used, and bloodied.

Despite the recognizable aspects, there were definite differences from a normal office as well. For instance, though the teller's booths were adjusted for a wizard's convenience, the desk, which stood at only two feet, clearly hadn't been. The two burgundy chairs in front of it were the only concessions to Wizarding kind. The room itself was also of slightly diminutive size. Dudley could have raised his hand and easily touched the cieling, which, like the walls and floor seemed to be made of roughly-hewn bedrock. The only source of illumination resided in a strongly luminescent globe that hung above the desk. They both took in all these details in the few seconds they lingered in the doorway before Chieftain Ragnok asked them in, hand held out to be shaken.

"Good afternoon Mr. Potter. Mr. Dursley. It is good to finally meet you both." As they crossed the room to shake the goblin's hand, first Harrold, then Dudley, they shared a look, again, confused, but both determined to learn as much as they could. While Dudley chose to sit in one of the leather chairs, which, he learned, forced him to look down upon the goblin from an awkward height, Harrold decided to forego propriety for comfort and simply sat on the floor in front of the desk, slightly closer than the chairs. Harrold spoke first, asking thier most pressing question, so far, anyway.

"How did you know who we were when we arrived?" Though his facial expression changed not in the slightest, his eyes did brighten a bit as he answered.

"It is part of the new security measures on the bank since that unfortunate break-in a few years ago. Our wards can identify, with absolute certainty, every single person who enters the bank, regardless of any and all identity-altering measures. We also have those with business with particular persons here at Gringott's keyed to that person's office in order that the interested party will be immediately notified in preparation of said person's arrival." Harrold was a bit put off by the seemingly garbled explaination, but one look at Dudley showed that he had understood it. Instead of revealing his ignorance and forcing Dudley to clarify, he decided that he had understood enough to be temporarily satisfied. Before he could decide on another question, Ragnok turned to Dudley.

"I will assume that you, along with Mr. Potter, are hear to claim your inheritance from the Potters?" At Dudley's blank expression, Harrold jumped in.

"Of course." Again, admitting ignorance was never a good thing. Unfortunately for his brilliant plan, Ragnok was more perceptive than they would've liked. He eyed Harrold for a moment before turning to the still silent Dudley.

"You weren't aware you had an inheritance from your magical guardians, were you?" After another silent moment, Dudley gave a rueful smile.

"I wasn't aware I had magical guardians." Ragnok blinked, then began to rifle through the papers and folders scattered across every available inch of his desk, before selecting a slightly dingy scroll, which he preceeded to unroll and read aloud with brevity.

_"To Whom This Notice Concerns:_

_It is the will of myself, James Antony Potter, and my wife, Lily Potter, that the enclosed package be held in trust until we, ourselves, return to claim it. Or, being unable to do so, the following person or persons seek to claim it in our stead._

_If, due to death, or irreconcilable injury, we prove incapable of retrieving, or sending in our stead to retrieve, the enclosed, the following person(s) are authorized to do so:_

_Mr & Mrs. Vernon Dursley_

_Mr. Stephan Zabini_

_Mr. Dudley Dursley_

_In the event that all of the above apply and none of the persons above lay claim to the enclosed before 1 July nineteen hundred-ninety-one, a trust vault is to be set aside for the aforementioned Mr. Dudley Dursley in conjunction with the trust vault set aside for Mr. Harrolden Potter, both of an equal already predetermined sum. In the event that Mr. Dudley Dursley does not come forth to lay claim to aforementioned trust before 31 July nineteen hundred ninety-six, trust vault is to be held along with seperate assets to be disposed of by sole main beneficiary of Potter Estate, aforementioned Mr. Harrolden Potter. _

_In the event that Mr. Dudley Dursley comes forth, appropriate parties are to be present during the reading of the attached missive and are to assure themselves that missive is thoroughly understood. After this condition is met, Mr. Dudley Dursley is to recieve a monetary vault of equal value of trust vault held for Mr. Harrolden Potter, to dispose of as he sees fit._

_Such Is Our Will; So Shall It Be Done._"

There was a long pause during the time it took for Chieftain Ragnok to reroll the scroll and place it aside. Harrold also absently noted that the goblin kept his eyes studiously on his desk, giving them a bit of time to come to terms. As if we have _that_ kind of time, he thought sourly. He spared a glance for Dudley and was unsurprised by the fury and grief warring on his face as he returned his glance. He mouthed one word. 'Later'. He didn't think Dudley would listen at first. But after only the slightest of hesitations, he took a deep breath, like a man just breaking the surface after too long in the deepest of waters, and his anger slowly receeded. They both turned to Ragnok as he spoke again.

"When I was alerted to your presence, Mr. Dursley, I assumed you had arrived with Mr. Potter to complete the execution of the Potter's last Will and Testament. The rest of the assetts of that estate have been properly dispersed except what was meant for the both of you." At this, his gaze included Harrold.

"Does anyone else have access to the assets not yet properly dispersed?" Dudley. He had recieved so many shocks today that he'd finally decided to just pretend such things as goblins, leaning banks, cave offices, and never-before-heard-of inheritances were commonplace. When in doubt, stick to what you know. And, in his case, he knew business.

Harrold was only too happy to leave the business talk to him, for now, at least. He was still puzzling over one of the names on his parents' notice. Mr. Stephan Zabini. Ron had mentioned another Zabini in his letter. Blaise. A quiet Slytherin boy that tended to blend into the background. He and Malfoy seemed to be close, which is the only reason he knew who Blaise Zabini was. But why hadn't anyone bothered to mention that his parents had known at least one Zabini? And trusted said man enough to put him in their will? Adding that to the still growing list of impossibly frustrating questions, he tuned back into the conversation to listen to Ragnok's answer to Dudley's question.

"Though they are currently in the name of your magical guardian, the only assets actually within said person's control are trust vaults. The other assets, said person only has very limited knowledge thereof." Ragnok's weighted gaze didn't help either young man decipher not only what was said, but what wasn't. Another glance, and they both knew they had the same question, and the same instinctive knowledge of the answer. But they had to ask. The decision made, they turned.

Chieftain Ragnok oc Mrand would later sit in his office alone, and let free the shiver trying valiantly to escape at the powerful intensity of the dual stare aimed in his direction.

Harrold spoke.

"Who is our magical guardian?" He had purposefully worded the question so that they could be absolutely sure that they did, indeed share a magical guardian, just in case they had misunderstood somewhere along the way.

A pause.

"Albus Dumbledore" No honorific.

Another pause. Neither were surprised.

"Which of the other assets soon to be mine, not including our trust vaults, is Albus aware of?" There was a shufling of files once again, before one was pulled, thin and inconspicuous, from beneath several ledger-like tomes. Ragnok opened it, reading off the list therein.

"Of the Potter Estate:

-one property; Wales

-one monetary vault

Of the Pettigrew Estate:

-one monetary vault

Of the Black Estate:

-two properties; Wales, London, England

-one monetary vault

Of the Qushare Estate:," and here, Ragnok's eyes finally lifted from the page and locked with Harrold's, "Albus knows absolutely nothing." Harrold had had his suspicions regarding the goblins and their dealings with the Headmaster. The latest information Ragnok had given him, both verbally and non-verbally only endorsed his growing belief that there was no love lost between one of the Ministry's greatest supporters and the species they were constantly trying to subjugate. He was grateful. Though he wasn't quite ready to count them as allies, he knew that he could, at least trust them not to go running to Albus with his every deed. It was a slightly comforting thought.

"Does he also have access to my trust vault?" Harrold had known that something had been off about the goblin's previous reference to their vaults. He'd said that magical guardians only had access to trust vaults. He hadn't said anything about thier's in particular. If Dudley hadn't figured it out and asked that particular question, Harrold knew it wouldn't have occured to him until later that day, at least.

"No. He only gained access to Mr. Potter's trust upon his attendance of Hogwarts School. Without it, his trust would have remained inaccessible until he was of an age to claim it himself, as yours has done." Both questions answered at once. Dudley was good, Harrold thought, with no small amount of respect. That respect only increased with his next question.

"Is magical emancipation, the legally binding declaration of independance from guardians possible?" At the inquiry, Ragnok also turned his gaze to Harrold, who only returned it solemnly.

"It is possible," he began slowly,"But it will only be granted upon proof of proper magical maturity."

Another pause.

"You could attempt it today, now, even, if you wish."

"And if we succeed...?" Dudley.

"Then you have the choice of whether or not your magical guardian will be notified of your legal emancipation. The successful declaration will, however, be automatically archived within the Ministry."

"And if we fail...?" Harrold. Ragnok seemed almost hesitant.

"Then you'll be unable to attempt it again for the next six months. And your magical guardian will be immediately notified of your failed attempt."

The young men eyed each other, their own singular determination only matched by that seen in the other's eyes.

"Then we won't fail."


	7. Of Dudley, Girlish Squeals,and Talismans

**A.N.** I can't believe I haven't updated since August! I'd say I was sorry, but that seems a bit redundant now. Surprisingly, now that I'm working again, I might actually update more often! And Thank You Soooo Much to all those people who've put this story, and myself, on thier alerts. It's what finally guilted me into finishing this part of the scene and typing it up! So, without further ado...

**Chapter Title: **_Of Dudley, Girlish Squeals, and Talismans_

Ragnok reached into one of his desk drawers and pulled out two sheafs of parchment and two small boxes. He placed both atop his already cluddered desk and set a box and a set of papers before each of them, then went through them, explaining thier purpose. "The top page will accurately record your identity and vital information, merely a safety precaution to prevent fraudulent claims. The next page," which, unlike the blank first page, held neat, precise writing," holds a statement declaring your intention to become independant from any and all magical guardianship. As with the first page, you merely press the tip of your want to the bottom of the parchment and your signature, like your vitals, will appear upon it, unforgeably. The final page has to do with these boxes." Ranock nimbly flipped the lid up on the plain wooden box in front of Dudley. Inside was a round, smooth glass stone, no bigger then Harrold's palm. The stone, however, had prism-like breaks within it, as if the stone were only a crystal suspended inside a glass ball.

"This is but a prism suspended inside a ball of glass." At this, Harrold had to resist the brief urge to laugh. "A small cut will need to be made in your palm, only enough for your blood to surface, a papercut, nothing more. You will place the ball of glass in the closed fist of your dominant hand, where the cut will be made, concentrating on your magic until it swells within you. At some point, your hand will fill with sensation, be it a tingling, wetness, heat, or cold. When the sensation overwhelms you, drop the stone onto the paper, but not until you absolutely can't hold onto it. The glass stone will transfer your magical information onto the parchment, thus either confirming or denying your emancipation. Do you understand?"

They nodded.

"I don't own a wand." At the quiet declaration, Ragnok blinked at Dudley. Then, he opened a different drawer in his desk, rifling through it.

"When were you born?" he asked, not even bothering to look up from his perusal.

"July 1." The goblin humphed consideringly, or so they assumed, before pulling out a crudely hewn wand. Or, at least they assumed it was a wand as he handed the cherry-like wood over to Dudley. The look of surpressed confusion changed to wonderous pleasure as his hand grasped the end. Even Ragnok looked a bit shocked at Dudley's strong reaction, a flicker of calculation in his eyes before he regained his composure and once more gestured towards the papers. Another glance before they both lowered thier wands to the first page.

Dudley almost sighed. He could feel it. For the first time in as long as he could remember, that hollow place inside him was beginning to fill. He assumed that whatever blocked up his magic was weakening still further and that it was that magic that was filling him. But it wasn't completely filled yet. Soon, he thought as he eyed his wand with pride, watching as words appeared neatly above it.

Very Soon.

It was the work of minutes for thier information to appear on the first page and their signatures to appear on the second. Despite themselves, Harrold and Dudley had both expected their signatures to appear in the same, precise hand as the rest of the treatise. But, instead, their signatures appeared exactly how they would if they had put quill to parchment instead of wand. They glanced at each other's papers, then at each other, shrugged simultaneously, and handed this page to Ragnok, as they had the first. This finally brought them to the page they'd worried about the most. Not because of the blood that needed to be spilled. Niether of them were unfamiliar with the sight or feel of their own blood, or the varied levels of pain involved in the letting.

It was Dudley himself that was the cause of worry. They both knew his magic had been blocked, even as they knew that the blockage was weakening. What worried them was whether it had weakened _enough_. Would he have enough magic at his command to pass the test for emancipation? Or was what happened in the garden that day a fluke? And even if it wasn't, would the need to consciously will his magic to rise instead of it coming on its own hinder him? And if he failed the test, how long would it take Dumbledore to get his hands on Dudley and his inheritance? How long would it be before he became just another pawn in the game between Dumbledore and Voldemort? A deadly game that had begun long before either of them was even born.

Dudley looked up from his slightly fearful contemplation of the glass orb, to meet Harrold's determined aqua gaze. Dudley saw all his fears reflected their, but beneath them, he saw himself. He saw all he had been, _the tormentor and bully_, and all he was becoming, _a man of courage and conviction_, there. _Like a mirror_, he thought. In a flash, he saw all the times he had spent with Harry reflected before him. The carefree friendship of the truly young and innocent, and he watched as Harry bore witness to that innocence, an innocence that, for Harry, had long since begun to fade, be striped away from Dudley, little by little. He watched himself, lost and alone, with them both off at seperate schools. He watched, as he was forced to truly look at himself for the first time, looking into the kind brown eyes of Mr. Jacobson. And watched as the summers past and still more of the child he had tried to be was stripped away. And he watched as he stood, emotionally bare, before Harry, once again. The epiphany hit him like waves. He drowned in the knowledge that Harry had always been his mirror. He had always been able to see himself in his deep, wizened eyes. And it had always frightened him. Not the knowledge, but the acceptance they'd always held. No matter who or what Dudley decided to be, Harry had always, mostly reluctantly, accepted him. He accepted him and acted accordingly, whether as a bully or a friend, and now, he was accepted as family.

As much as had passed between them, Dudley had been assuming that, once term started, once Harrold returned to the wizarding world proper, to a part of it Dudley would not be able to enter, Harrold would leave him on his own. That, besides the Jacobsons', he'd be, again, without true family. It was humbling to realize that his real family had always been there, waiting. And that he'd never really be alone, ever again.

With a shuddering breath, Dudley turned back to the box and it's possession, taking up the knife that Ragnok had proffered, and layed a shallow cut open in his palm. When the blood had, finally, slowly, welled into his palm, he set the blade aside and picked up the glassed-in crystal and, fisting his blooded hand around it, closed his eyes.

He tried to reach for the empty place inside himself, dip into the new power that had filled a bit of that place, but it kept slipping through his mental grasp like sand. His frustration built as he tried, again and again, with little success. Then he stopped as an idea took hold. The one time he had been able to feel his magic, was the day he learned it had been blocked. The fierce anger he felt at the revelation hadn't lessened. Not even slightly. So it was almost too easy to summon up that bubbling fury, the simmering rage, betrayal, and sadness that he had had to ruthlessly supress every night when he talked to his parents. Yelling and screaming were the lesser of the impulses that took hold as he cleaned and brooded in their absence. If Harrold hadn't been in residence, he wasn't so sure he could have resisted the urge to burn the house down. Every last piece of furniture and posed portrait, every last window hanging and piece of dinnerware, every sheet, towel, pillow, and blanket, every floorboard and cieling fixture turned to ash under the intensity of bright, cleansing yellow and red flames.

So caught up in his fiery revelry was Dudley that he mistook the light he saw behind his closed lids for the light coming from the globe above the goblin's desk. Harrold and Ragnok had no such illusions.

They watched, in awed silence, as Dudley's magic manifested. As his hand glowed red, the bones a stark white in contrast. They felt the beat of his magic like the beat of a hot and weighty heart. They felt the magic got steadily hotter, steadily heavier, as Dudley's hand continually grew brighter. A deep crimson light seeped from between clenched fingers and surrounded his hand in a nimbus of shadowy, pulsating light. It took a moment to realize that his heartbeat now matched the beat of Dudley's magic.

They both, Harrold and Ragnok, jumped a bit when a line of crimson fire ran across Dudley's knuckles and disappeared into his fist. It happened so fast, Harrold almost thought he'd imagined it. That is, until it happened again. Another lick of flame raced across the back of his hand, followed shortly by another. In minutes, Dudley's left hand was engulfed in dark red flames. His hand at the epicenter of a fireball, tight and glowing brigher and hotter with every pulse of magic. It wasn't long before Harrold could literally feel the heat pressing against him from the magical fire. So entranced were they by the crackling flames that they found themselves jumping again as Dudley let out a pained yelp and, finally, dropped the glassed-in prism unto the blank parchment before him.

As soon as he had noticed the increasingly intense burning in his hand, he'd opened his eyes, only to see that said hand was _on fire!_ It was only after that girlish yelp, when he'd dropped the glass ball, that he'd realized that while he could feel the heat from the flames, he hadn't actually been in any pain. Only the intensity of the heat and the curiousity of not knowing it's origin had made him open his eyes. And only the shock of seeing himself _on fire!_ had made him drop the prism. As he'd continued to examine his hand, the same as he'd been doing since releasing the stone, he had realized that it wasn't even warm, let alone burned. And his palm was healed, as if he'd never cut it. He was so relieved at no longer being _on fire!_ and unharmed that it took him several long moments before he noticed the tense silence that had engulfed the room. He looked up to see two pairs of eyes trained on him. One, the slightly wid_er_ black of the goblin, the other, a curious aqua, which switched between his face, the prism, and Ragnok. He, too, looked down at the prism, and gasped.

Though Harrold had smirked at Dudley's oh-so-feminine yelp, his smirk faded quickly when his gaze had turned downward. He'd expected to see a melted hunk of crystal and glass, reformed into the shape of Dudley's clenced fingers. What met their eyes instead, was the still perfectly formed piece of crystal suspended in glass. But where before, the prism had softly refracted the glow of the goblins' orb, it now shown with light of it's own. At first glance, he's assumed it was refracting some inner light, a possible residual of Dudley's magic, into a glittering rainbow. He now saw, on closer inspection, several distinct fragments of light floating within the prism. Small sparks of brilliant light, some a sparking white like burning diamonds, a few a green to rival his own natural eye color, a smooth yellow like the gentle hue of a flower's petal, a tranquil blue to match the calmest summer sky, and a deep red like the flames they'd just watch dance across Dudley's hand. Each speck of color remained seperate even from its mates, as it cast it's own glow across the parchment, highlighting the words that had appeared only moments ago.

**Dudley Vernon Dursley**

**Age: **_16 years_

**Magical Classification:** _Wizard; Elemental_

**Status:**_ Official Emancipation Approved on this 12 day of August, 1996_

Dudley watched Harrold as Ragnok read off the information. The expression on his face halted Dudley's joy at having succeeded. Harrold looked almost worried.

"Ragnok. I read recently that there hasn't been an elemental wizard born in the United Kingdom since the last one passed away in the late 9th century." Though he'd made it a statement, they all heard the unasked question. Was Dudley the first elemental wizard to be born in the U.K. in over a millenia? At first, niether young man thought the goblin would answer as he continued to stare at Dudley. But, almost reluctantly, he turned to Harrold.

"That is correct, Mr. Potter. As was prophesied, one among the clan of elemental wizards was betrayed by, and leading to, their betrayal, of the royal family, to it's near destruction. Though speculation ran, and had run, rampant every since that time, all we know for certain is that our world has been plagued with war, death, madness, destruction, and even infertility ever since." There was an almost hesitant pause before Ragnok continued. "It is said among many of the goblin clans, including my own, that peace will only come when the rightful wizarding heir of Great Britain assumes the throne and an elemental wizard walks among us again. The words, supposedly passed onto us by the last elemental wizard. We have been waiting ever since.s"

Harrold and Dudley eyed each other wearily. It was his first day in the wizarding world and there was already some kind of prophesy hanging over his head. Dudley sighed dejectedly. But his eyes narrowed as he caught the smirk on Harrold's face.

"And I thought all the wierd shite only happened to me!" Suffice it to say, Dudley was not amused.

"What does it mean that I'm, apparently, some kind of Elemental Wizard?" Dudley was reluctanctly to ask, but, again, he refused to let his fear of this new unknown deter him. But when Ragnok turned burning black eyes on him, he almost withdrew the question. There was a lengthy pause before Ragnok turned in his chair, facing the back wall. They could tell by the way his shoulders twitched and bulged beneath his suit jacket that he was doing something, probably some form of goblin magic, against the wall. Another minute, and they heard the tell-tale sounds of stone grating against stone and watched as a section of wall slid away to reveal, a cabinet? The recess was too dark to see inside it. Ragnok opened it with the sound of metal hinges creaking, then, the sound of metal scrapping across wood, the sound of the wooden door closing, stone grating against stone, and Ragnok was turning back to face Dudley.

There was another pause before Ragnok held his hand out towards Dudley, a large metal key in the palm of his hand, or, at least it looked metallic by the way the low light shown off it's surface, but neither young man had ever seen white metal before. Hesitantly, Dudley touched the key, but when nothing happened, he took it from the goblin. Though the key was bigger than even _his_ hand, it was much lighter than it should have been, especially since the cool weight in his hands confirmed that it was indeed metallic. Dudley examined the old-fashioned key for another moment, taking note of the number engraved on it, 7, before meeting Ragnok's gaze.

"That is the vault key to the vault that once belonged to the High Council of the Elemental Mages. That particular key, the only one still in existence, was given into my great father's care over one thousand years ago. By the High Mage Queen herself. It has been here, at Gringotts', waiting for the next would-be Mage. You, Mr. Dursley."

Blink. Another Blink.

Glance to the left.

Blink. Blink.

Face Forward.

"Ooookay." Ragnok rolled his eyes at them. Harrold, surprised by the all-too-human gesture of exasperation, barely managed to smother a snicker, before Ragnok continued.

"Since there have been no Elemental wizards, let alone Mages, no one has been inside that vault since the last time the Mage Queen visited just under one thousand years ago. No one remembers now what was rumored to be within it. My great father was only told that when the prophsied Elemental appeared, it would hold all he or she needed. Now, it is all yours, Mr. Dursley." The only thing that kept Dudley from babbling out his confusion to the stone walls was the mantra, silently repeating itself over and over in the back of his mind 'business as usual.'

"Alright. Is there anything else?"

"From the Mage Queen, no?" He lifted a tall, rectangular box from the back, left edge of his desk, along with the parchment beneath it and presented them both to Dudley. "But these are from Mr. and Mrs. Potter. I've been directed to inform you to read the missive carefully before opening the box."

Dudley stared down at the folded piece of paper with his name written in an elegant hand across the front that he instinctively knew belonged to his Aunt. A woman who's name he hadn't dared to speak in almost a decade. Aunt Lily. He didn't know why he was so nervous. The letter could've been something mundane, like a congratulations on being a wizard, or a note telling him that what was in the box was something shiny and useless like all the other gifts he's ever gotten from family. But somehow, he knew it was nothing so simple. They had pretty much come to the conclusion that it had been Harrold's father that had bound Dudley's magic before he'd even passed his first year. And though said Potter had been known, in earlier years, for reckless, even malicious, behaviour, Lilith Potter had never been prone to such heavy-handed childishness. Yet she'd allowed this _thing_ to be done to him. This letter, most likely, _hopefully_, would tell them both why. He absently noted Harrold leaning over his left shoulder as he unfolded the letter. Thus uncomfortably, they both read.

"Dearest Dudley,

If you're reading this then what we feared has come to pass; Your uncle James and I are dead and your magic is still bound, but somehow, you've discovered you're a wizard. We, foremost, want you to know how much we love you and how much like our own son we consider you. If you doubt everything else you read here, never doubt that.

The two of us have agonized time and again over how to explain what's been done to you, what _we've_ done to you. We want you to know that it wasn't our wish to keep magic from you. I still remember the pride and joy I felt when I got my Hogwarts letter. How special I felt. The last thing we wanted to do was to deny you that same pride, that same joy. But we did. The least we can do is try to explain.

Despite the emnity between your parents and ourselves, we were overjoyed when you were born. Foolish as it was, we'd hoped that, perhaps, parenthood would mellow the adversity your parents had for us and our world. The war with Voldemort still raged on and any sign of hope we had, we leapt at, again, foolishly, it would seem. When Harrolden and yourself were both 6 mos. old, we went to visit you and your parents. It was a risk, but to see our new nephew, we felt it was worth it. You and Harrolden, whom your uncle insists on calling Harry, were instant friends. You both cried when we were forced, both by the lateness of the hour and our chilly reception, to leave. But we made a point of baring the latter so that the two of you could continue to see each other.

It was during one of our weekly visits that we saw you perform accidental magic for the first time. We were so _proud!_ We insisted on talking to your parents about your magical education, despite their obvious displeasure. Your display of magical potential made us determined to continue our visits and see that someone in you life encouraged you in it. We were pleased beyond measure when we noticed you and Harrolden entertaining each other with feats of magic. We tried constantly during our visits to show your parents how special your magic was. But within the very next month, James was contacted by one of his informants about a woman matching your mother's description who was seen in Knockturn Alley asking questions about the possibility of magical core removal! At first, we refused to believe it, determined to trust that their love for you would outweigh any hatred they had for magic, but whoever _was_ making such inquiries needed to be watched regardless, so his contact waited and watched. It took four days before his contact finally got in touch again. James arrived just in time to follow the mysterious woman out of the Leaky Cauldron, obviously on her way home. I can still remember the look of despair in his eyes when he returned home and told me what my sister was trying to do. Not even I had realized that her hatred went so deep.

The procedure your mother was looking into, complete magical core removal, wasn't simply dangerous, more than a mere shock to the system, it was ultimately fatal! A wizard's magic is an essential part of their immune and nervous system. A wizard's magical strength can help determine everything from thier mental acquity and health to thier ability to fight off diseases, and even thier physical growth and maturity. You uncle and I were absolutely terrified by the risk your parents seemed willing to take. No one in the years before it's bane over 300 years ago had ever survived having thier magical core removed. James, of course, wanted to immediately file papers to have your custody turned over to us, but I knew, despite what they were trying to do, that your parents loved you, so I convinced James to wait on making any kind of decisions until we had talked to them.

We went the very next day. Luckily, they were expecting us and let us in with little fuss. We immediately set you and Harrolden up in a different room as we confronted your parents. At, first, they denied our allegations, until that proved fruitless, then they claimed it was none of our concern, you were thier child and they would do whatever they deemed fit no matter what we said. We spent the next two hours calmly, and, I admit, not so calmly, trying to change their minds. We even explained how dangerous the procedure was, how it was practically murder! But nothing seemed to sway them. That was when James and I decided to warn them of the consequences if they continued to pursue it. We warned them that we would take you from them and that they would be imprisoned. Once we convinced them of that very real possibility, your mother reminded us of the danger we were in, of the war that raged in our world, of the increased danger since the birth of our son, as if we could possibly forget any of it! And thus, another hour of discussion commenced. We ended up at a stalemate. They didn't want their son to be magical, but worse was having a son killed in some magical war. We didn't want them sacrificing your life to their own flagrant prejudices. But we, too, understood, only to well, how dangerous our living situation was. We despaired of finding a situation that we all could live with.

That is, until James remembered a study case he'd reviewed while training to be an Auror, just before the 'Magical Manipulations Act of 1642' about a girl who'd had her magic forcibly blocked. The procedure was, of course, strictly banned, it's very name and the knowledge of it's existence prohibited to all but a select few areas of the Wizarding World. Even James had to perform days worth of research to perfect the details, he'd only known so much at the outset. But, unlike magical core removal, the procedure wasn't nearly as fatal. In fact, the rate of success was just under three out of four. But the other defining difference that had pushed it to the forefront of James' mind was that magical core blockage is completely reversible! A fact that we, unfortunately, neglected to tell your parents.

It took another three-quaters of an hour, but this seemed the best way for all involved. Though you would remain a wizard, as we'd wished, your magic would go completely undetected by our world, all outward manifestations of your magic would cease. Though if the time ever came, you could reclaim you magic fully. Within the box before you is a powerful potion, the only reversal to the series of spells we performed in all the Wizarding World, that can completely remove the block on your magic. If you choose to use it, you should only take it when you are somewhere safe. It will render you unconscious for at least twelve hours while the blockage is absorbed and your magic fully circulates through your body as it was meant to. As there hasn't been a forced blockage in several centuries, we aren't exactly sure what will happen, though a dangerously high magical surge is almost inevitable If at all possible, try to find a place with strong wards to take the potion in. Since the potion is supposed to render you unconscious, as I've said, you shouldn't experience any pain."

Though the puzzle of trying to figure out what they were had been what kept his emotions from overwhelming him, at the mention of pain, he suddenly knew what the blotches of ink that had appeared periodically across the parchment were; tear stains. His aunt had cried as she wrote this letter. Without those inky splotches, he wouldn't have known. The handwriting remained steady throughout, the writing earnest, but strong. But she had cried, cried for him, all those years ago. Though his mouth was suddenly dry, his throat tight, he tried to keep his face as neutral as possible as he turned to see his cousin Harrolden's face. How did it feel to know that his mother had shed tears for his tormentor?

What he saw froze him. Harrold was crying, the sadness on his face, in his eyes, heavy enough to eat the world. Harrold made to turn those liquid aqua eyes on him, but Dudley turned back to the parchment before their eyes connected. He just knew that if they'd met, he wouldn't make it through the rest of the letter for his own tears. Quickly, in near desperation, he continued on.

"Since such as essential part of your growth and development has been cut off, don't be alarmed if there are drastic physical, as well as mental, changes once you've awakened. Everything from your height and weight, to your memory retention may change. If you're suffering from any health concerns, the release of your magic should put you well on your way to recovery.

Hopefully, the fact that you're reading this means that you've at least met your cousin Harrolden. We'd like to think that you're reading this just before entering Hogwarts', but if, for some reason, you didn't go and you're reading this at your coming of age, then you'll have to discuss this with Harrolden. There is simply too much you need to know about magic, if you choose to release yours, that can't be put in a letter.

No matter what you decide, however, we will always love you, Dudley. That may not mean so much, coming post-humously, but it remains true, none-the-less. We only hope you grew up in a safe world full of joy and light. We're so very sorry if the actions described of your parents come as a shock. We only want you to know the truth. But, despite what happened, they only wanted the best for you, as did we.

May the path of your life be smooth

The weather of your life fair

The magic of your life boundless

The love of your life loyal and worthy

Such Is Our Will

So Shall It Be Done."

The last two lines were written in a beautiful, but distinctly masculine hand, the sight of which drew a sharp sob from Harrold and finally pushed forth the tears from Dudley's eyes, which he promptly closed. He felt the comforting weight of his cousin against the left expanse of his back. In the midst of his own sobs, it took a moment for recognition of the trembling that wasn't his own. But the instant it penetrated, he half turned in his seat, his right arm extending across Harrolden's shoulders. They wept silently, mourning the parental love and acceptance they had both been denied, the silent testament to it's existence safely huddled between them, a talisman of ink, parchment, and tears.


End file.
